Darkest Nights
by Bucken-Berry
Summary: "He felt his last bit of hope drain away from him. He would die here, at the hands of his attackers." Someone's worst nightmare has become reality, and even though everyone is desperately searching for him, it might be too late.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: don't own

Notes: Flashbacks and memories in italics. Dreams in underline.

Warnings: graphic torture, rape etc

* * *

George closed his eyes. He should have seen it coming. Of course it made perfect sense seeing as he had spent his entire life trying to help people, cure people with mental diseases; now he found himself kidnapped, beaten, tortured, and raped by a group of sexual sadists. No good deed goes unpunished, right? It made sense in the worst way, being attacked by the kind of people he once treated.

He had been badly beaten; raped multiple times, he was dehydrated and he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. There was a crack in the wall that let in a hint of sunlight: if that was any indicator, it would mean he'd last eaten three days ago, and he'd been here for two weeks. Two weeks he had been waiting for the detectives he worked with, hanging on to the hope that they would rescue him.

He remembered when he was captured.

_"The people you're looking for are the perfect examples of sadists," he'd told them. "They adore the idea of others being in pain, and they torture their victims before killing and dumping them. It is quite possible that they tortured them into insanity and made the victims beg before they killed them."_

_Elliot Stabler shook his head sadly. "So how do we catch these guys, doc?"_

_"In addition to being sadists, they're narcissists. Give them media coverage; play up what a difficult time we're having with them."_

_The detective nodded and went back to work. George, having received a call from Bellevue that a patient needed him, left._

_It was dark outside, and he shivered at the chill from the air. He walked towards the subway, trying to hurry._

_Suddenly he a man who'd been near him pointed a gun against George's head._

_"Move and you're dead."_

_He was forced into a van, he was stripped and held in place while the men- he guessed there were 5 including the one driving- took turns raping him. It had been agonizing, and they had laughed at him cries of pain._

_The van stopped and he looked around hopefully, thinking of running, but it was hopeless. One of them held a cloth to his face and he tried not to inhale but it was a hopeless struggle. His vision went black._

He shivered violently. He was on the floor, naked, and the room had no kind of heating. Yet another thing to add to his list of ways he could be killed in the next few days. He'd made a list, at first trying to figure out what he had to do to survive, but now… now he wasn't sure why. He shifted slightly, but regretted it the instant the agonizing pain went through his body. Tears streamed down his face. "If they don't find me soon, I'm going to lose it," he thought desperately.


	2. Chapter 2

_He'd woken up to a semi-lit room. A man stood over him._

_"I am going to break you, George Huang. FBI or no… I'm going to break you down."_

_He shook his head. If the SVU detectives didn't notice he was gone, the FBI would. They would search for him._

_The man ran his hand over George's body, laughing._

_"I'm going to ruin that cute little body."_

_George allowed a look of revulsion to cross his face._

_The man took no notice. He pulled out a tiny knife and George tried in vain to get away. He screamed in pain as the knife sliced his skin again and again. It seemed to last forever and he wondered If he was going to die then and there. His muscles start shaking in protest to the tension in his body. Eventually, George panting, the man stopped. He looked George over with a twisted smile._

_"Have to stop there or there won't be anything left for the others." He walked away._

_He lost count of how many times it had happened in the next few days, being beaten and cut and burned and, of course, raped._

One of his attackers came into the room, smiling widely. George steeled himself, waiting for a blade or lighter or some other weapon of torture.

Instead, the man undressed quickly. "Again? Really?" George thought to himself. Usually they did that as a group, but they didn't seem to care. Not a good sign- they were getting bored and they might kill him at any moment. He was living on borrowed time, now.

The man entered him, and he cried out as usual. The man, surprisingly, pulled out. What was he doing?

"I want you to be a willing participant." The man said nonchalantly. George knew what that meant and dread settled in his stomach.

The man gripped him and George's body betrayed him by responding. The man stroked him, and George felt himself getting close. The man laughed and entered him again, still stroking, and they went over the edge together. George felt disgusted. These men were no novices: they knew how to torture psychologically as well as physically.

The man pulled out a lighter and he felt his skin burning, he felt the pain grip him. He lost conscious before he could scream.

* * *

Elliot was furious. How could George have gone missing right under their noses? He paced around the room, feeling like attacking someone.

"This isn't fucking fair. Huang is the one who tries to help these people get over that shit and what happens! They get him."

Olivia placed a hand on his shoulder "I know Elliot, but you can't find him by making a hole in the floor."

Grinding his teeth, he sat down; trying to find something he had missed in the information he'd been given.

If they didn't find George in time… No. He shook the thought from his mind. George would be ok. He wouldn't let there be any other outcome.


	3. Chapter 3

Elliot kissed him gently. He sighed into it and Elliot hugged him tight. Eventually Elliot broke away. "From now on, anyone that touches you is dead." Elliot told him. George leaned back and sighed as Elliot held his aching body even closer. He started to close his eyes and Elliot nodded approvingly. "Sleep, George. I'll protect you. No one can hurt you ever again."

George woke up in the room, again. Of course, it had been a dream. He had dreamed of being Elliot's lover before, of course. He still wanted it, in fact. He just had accepted that it probably wasn't going to happen. Still, it hurt that he had such a good dream and then woke up to this. It made it hurt more, somehow.

"Please help me, Elliot," he whispered into the air.

* * *

Captain Cragen was anxious. George was a member of the team and so, he had a father/child relationship with him. The squad, being so close-knit, was frantic. Of course, George had always been a bit of an outsider, but that didn't change how they felt. He was worried about his squad: Elliot seemed ready to explode, Olivia, who was pretty close to George, was barely keeping it together. Fin and Munch were seemingly ok, but they had their hands full trying to be pillars for Elliot and Olivia.

Normally, when emotions were this high, George would talk to everyone and keep them together. "You really don't know what you have until it's gone." He thought bitterly. He wasn't sure if George was gone forever or not. He didn't want to be that pessimistic with the detectives, but he also knew they were all fearing the worst. They knew, somehow, that he had been kidnapped by the sadists. There were other explanations, but somehow, they just knew. He tried not to remember George's description of the attacker's activities with the victims, but didn't succeed.

"_Hey doc, what's the deal with these guys?" He'd asked._

"_They are sexual sadists. They tortured their victims for days, weeks even. Cuts, burns, starvation, dehydration, psychological warfare."_

He shivered at the words. He didn't even want to think about the pain George was going through.

They had to find him, and soon.

* * *

George felt the knife coming at him, again and again, and he felt the fists and shoes of his various attackers flying at him and hitting his arms, legs, and ribs. Nothing that could result in internal injuries, though- they would let him die in the way they liked, the way that caused the most pain.

He felt his last bit of hope drain away from him. He would die here, at the hands of his attackers. The detectives weren't coming. He remembered how he had said the attackers had made the previous victims beg for death. He wished he'd struggled against his attackers so they would have shot him. Maybe he should, beg for death like the other victims had. But Elliot… he shook his head. Elliot didn't love him. No one did. The only thing he did have was the cold reality that the pain was going to get worse until he died.

He noticed that his head was swimming. He tried to stay awake, but his body was able to stand less and less each time he was tortured and he blacked out.

George noticed, when he woke up, that he didn't feel cold anymore. He could see his breath, but he was actually sweating. He tried to remember what that meant, but thinking was like looking for someone in a fog and he couldn't get anywhere.

That was a worrying sign too. That meant... something bad; the word was on the tip of his tongue…

He couldn't think. He could barely breathe.

He heard his attackers come in, and watched with mild interest as they felt his forehead and yelled about a fever and how they had to be careful not to get sick. They argued for a while before he felt rough hands pulling him to his feet. He wasn't strong enough to stand on his own, but he tried. One of his attackers grumbled and brought another cloth to his face. He was forced to breathe in the sickly sweet fumes and he blacked out again.


	4. Chapter 4

He woke up and blinked at the bright sunlight filtering in through gray clouds. Sky- that meant he wasn't there anymore… then where was he?

He turned his head, wincing at the pain, and saw a hill leading up to a road. He realized that he would have to get there somehow in order to be found. He moved slightly and pain coursed through him. He went slowly, eventually standing. He took a timid step and almost passed out, but he managed somehow to hang on, step after agonizing step. Finally he was right next to the road. He collapsed, gasping for breath. He felt the cold around him but he was still sweating. A car stopped and someone ran over to him.

"Are you all right?" the person- a woman, he noticed- asked him.

"I need Elliot," he said instead of answering.

"Who's Elliot?" She asked him.

"Elliot Stabler, he's an NYPD detective…" He had to focus on breathing. He struggled to catch his breath; his lungs refused to fill.

He vaguely saw the woman whipping out a cell phone. He was barely managing to stay awake. The woman finished her call and set her phone down.

"Your Elliot friend is being notified and an ambulance is on the way. I'm Kayla, and I'm an EMT. What's your name?"

"George." His voice sounded weak, but he couldn't muster any more energy.

"Do you know the date or where you are? What happened to you?"

His eyes filled with tears, and Kayla set a hand on his shoulder. He winced slightly. "I dunno the date or anything. I was attacked and tortured by a group of sexual sadists."

The woman's eyes widened slightly, but her voice stayed calm. "Well, at least that gives me some idea of what to look for. I'll be right back; I'm going to get an emergency blanket from my car."

He shook his head. "It's too hot."

She frowned and touched his forehead. She looked worried now. She walked to the car and came back with an emergency kit.

He felt a thermometer pressed against his lips and opened his mouth. Then Kayla pressed a blanket around him, making him move in protest. She noticed his motions but didn't move the blanket.

"I can't leave you exposed here," she explained.

The thermometer beeped and she took it out of his mouth. She allowed a look of alarm to cross her face.

"How high?" he asked tiredly.

"105."

Despite his disorientation, he knew he was in more danger now than he had been while he was kidnapped.

* * *

Elliot raced through the streets, desperately trying to get to where the call had come from. He knew it had to be George. He finally got there and sucked in his breath when he saw George.

The man looked utterly broken. Cuts and burns everywhere, chalky white complexion, and he looked like he was in a lot of pain. He introduced himself to the lady next to him.

"I've been able to keep him slightly more stable than he would be otherwise, since I'm an EMT. He's been asking for you constantly," she explained. Elliot was confused by that, but he didn't ask. He sat down next to George.

"George, it's Elliot. What happened to you?" He knew what had happened, but he still didn't believe it.

"Elliot!" He tried to sit up but Elliot pushed him down.

"Save your strength, George." George's voice hadn't been very strong.

George reached out, clearly wanting to touch Elliot. Elliot gripped his hand, slightly alarmed to notice how hot the skin was. "The sadists I was telling you about got me."

Elliot closed his eyes for a moment. "It's ok now, George."

George sighed. "Not a lot of air in here, is there? And I'm so tired..."

Elliot noticed that George's eyes were glazed and unfocused. "Stay awake, George."

"Why?" Elliot was about to reply but George was already asleep- at least, he hoped it was sleep. Kayla moved next to them and placed her ear next to George's mouth to listen to his breathing.

"His breathing is rapid and shallow," she told him grimly. "He's in septic shock."

Fortunately the ambulance arrived just then and Elliot and Kayla were able to fill them in on George's condition. Elliot thanked Kayla and she shrugged.

"I do this all day anyway. I hope he's ok." With that she got in the car and drove away.

Elliot demanded to ride with the EMT's- a uniform drove his car back to the station. Elliot watched as they tried to get his vitals under control. George was in critical condition because of the septic shock- his organs were starting to fail, and they had to race time.

Elliot sighed, taking George's pulse. Despite the machine telling him George's pulse was there, he wanted to feel it. What he felt wasn't that reassuring. It was weak and thready.

He looked over George's body. There were cuts and burns and bite marks everywhere, in various stages of healing.

George had obviously been through hell. "I'm so sorry, George," he whispered.

They finally arrived at the hospital. There was a flurry of activity around George until he was put into a room. An IV was placed in his chest. Eventually Elliot was left with the small man, running a wet cloth over the hot forehead. His temperature was still dangerously high and though they had started him on medication to bring it down, in addition to antibiotics, it would take a few hours to days if it worked at all.

Elliot felt his stomach clench as he looked at George's tiny figure. He wanted to kill the bastards who'd done this to his George. Wait a minute- his George? Why had he thought that?

Did he love him? He'd never let himself think that. He knew he thought the man was physically attractive. He knew he felt really protective of him- but no, that was natural. It was natural that he wanted to stay glued to George for a long time, if not forever. It was natural that he wanted to hurt anyone who looked at him the wrong way. It was natural that he wanted to reassure him. It was natural that he wanted to hug and kiss him and tell him he loved him.

He stopped fighting his emotions. He did love the small doctor.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the heart rate monitor, which beeped alarmingly before flatlining.


	5. Chapter 5

He was yelling for help before he even registered what was happening.

A few doctors ran in and ordered him out. He paced in the hallway, terrified.

Was George going to make it?

He felt tears running down his face. He had failed George so many times- the time he'd failed to protect him from Matthew Brodus, the time he'd used George to coerce a confession from a schizophrenic, the time he'd snapped at George when he had ordered him off a case involving several murdered kids. And he'd failed George by not catching the sadists before they got him.

And through all that, George had been there for him. True, it was George's job, but George had been there outside of work hours too. He wished he could help George.

He was so lost in thought that he almost didn't notice Olivia running towards him.

"I got a call that George was found. How is he? What's going on?"

"He's… not good." His throat tightened and he felt a wave of shame come over him when tears left his eyes. Olivia put her hand on his shoulder.

"What is it, Elliot?"

Elliot struggled to speak. "He was kidnapped and tortured by the sadists we're after. And the cuts let bacteria in his blood and he's septic and now he's flatlining, and- god dam nit, I'm in love with him."

Olivia sucked in a breath. "He'll be okay, Elliot. George is tougher than we all know."

"Not when he's been totally broken," he choked out.

A doctor came out of the room.

"Is he…?" Elliot asked breathlessly.

"We got him back. But we had to put him on a ventilator, and he's still critical. He has an overwhelming infection, and his immune system responded to it but was only able to do so much. He has a fever, due to both the bacteria and his body's response. It's not high enough to warrant icing him down, but we're going to give him a bed bath and see how he responds. We'll worry about other things later."

"Can I see him?"

"In a few minutes. A nurse will tell you when," she said as she started to walk away. When she was gone Elliot let out a shaky breath and leaned against the wall for support.

"He'll live, Elliot," Olivia said.

"I hope so," Elliot murmured. A nurse came out and told him he could go back in. Olivia decided to leave Elliot alone, instead opting to give the squad news about George. Elliot walked in the room nervously.

The heart monitor was beeping steadily as if trying to reassure him that George was still there. The ventilator breathed for him, at a steady rate that no human would ever breathe at. The machines were precise, a little unnerving, yet crucial- "A lot like George," Elliot mused sadly. "Or what George was like." Because, now, the person being assisted by the machines was a sharp contrast to the machines themselves. He looked at George for what felt like the hundredth time, looking at the injuries that had caused him so much pain.

He found himself imagining what it must have been like for George. The cutting, beatings, burns, bites, rapes- escaping from that, only to find the pain of a dangerous illness. He grabbed George's hand. He felt a powerful need to say something.

"Please hang on. I… I love you. It'll be hard but I'll protect you." He trailed off awkwardly.

He got no response, but he wasn't expecting one, as much as he would have liked to feel the hand tighten around his.

"I'll wait for you, George," Elliot promised him. He would stay here overnight. In the morning Cragen would probably order him home, so he figured he'd get some sleep then and then come back. He settled in for a long night.


	6. Chapter 6

Elliot looked at his watch. It was 10:00 in the morning; the team would be coming in to see George in an hour.

Suddenly, a noise came from George, then another. It looked like George was trying to breathe on his own. He felt amazed when he noticed George seemed to be awake.

A nurse came in and removed the tube and then Elliot was left alone with George.

"George, are you awake?" he asked gently.

"Mm-hmm." The noise sounded harsh and Elliot berated himself when he remembered that George's throat would probably be hurting after being hooked up to the tube. He grabbed some ice chips and put them in George's mouth, coaxing him into swallowing them.

"Better?"

"Mm-hmm," George hummed again.

Elliot realized that George was semi-delirious because of the high fever. "Do you know where you are?" he asked.

"A dream."

Elliot blinked. "What do you mean?"

"It's another dream."

Elliot wasn't sure what to say. He decided to go along with it. "How do you know it's a dream?"

"Not there anymore..."

Elliot felt like someone had kicked him. "George, this is real. You were found on a highway. You have a bad infection but you're alive." He managed not to add a bitter "for now."

"Wish this wasn't a dream," George said with a sigh.

Elliot sat down next to George and put George's hand between his. "What do I need to do to convince you?"

"Nothing."

Elliot stopped trying to talk to George logically. But he wanted to reassure the smaller man. "George, I promise no one's going to hurt you. I'm going to take care of you from now on."

George gave another sigh, which turned into a cough. When he was done coughing he murmured, "It feels good when you say that."

Elliot moved a hand and set it on George's cheek, speechless.

George spoke again. "I'm in love with you," he whispered.

Elliot swallowed, his throat tight. "Same here, George." He knew the small man was hallucinating because of the fever, but he also knew that George's feelings were real; he hoped he'd get the chance to make George happy again.

George soon drifted off again. Elliot wished that he could say that George waking up had reassured him, but he knew George wasn't out of the woods yet, and now he felt an ache in his chest for what George was going through mentally and physically. He had never reached this level of empathy for anyone, even Kathy, before. Sighing, he decided to busy himself by running another towel over George's forehead. He was sure he was going to hit something otherwise, and he didn't want to destroy hospital property.

The others came in the room. They drew in a collective shocked breath when they saw George's condition; pale skin, cuts and burns, and overall worn look.

"What the hell?" Olivia fumed, angry tears on her face. Fin grounded his teeth in anger while Munch and Cragen shook their heads sadly. Alex Cabot punched a wall, something she'd never done before.

Elliot filled them in on what he knew.

"He was kidnapped and tortured, obviously, and he's in septic shock. He flatlined once right after he got here but they managed to bring him back. He woke up a few minutes ago, sort of. He was semi-conscious and… he thought he was dreaming, because he wasn't there anymore." He had difficulty saying the words.

They shared a significant look, and made a wordless promise to each other. When they caught the perpetrators, they were going to make sure the bastards regretted harming one of their own.

They watched him for a few more minutes. Alex Cabot started talking.

"When I get my hands on them…" she growled.

"Don't worry, they're getting my classic, 'oops I didn't mean to hit you' attacks," Elliot said. Olivia nodded approvingly.

Cragen shook his head sadly. "I think George wants us to just stick with legal revenge. If we find them they'll get life in prison, I'm certain of it."

"They'd escape on some technicality," Alex fumed.

"Fin, Munch, you guys ok?" Olivia asked suddenly. They hadn't said a word.

"Just kind of a lot to take in," Munch answered.

"Yeah, the doc and I aren't best buddies but this sucks."

They all agreed on that.

They made plans to start taking turns watching over George. One of them would always be at his side; they managed to align their hours that way.

They wanted and needed George back.


	7. Chapter 7

It had been five long days since George had been found. He had improved some—his organs started functioning properly, his blood pressure became regular enough so it wasn't septic shock anymore- but the fever was still worrying. His temperature was still 104 degrees.

Elliot sighed and grabbed a cold towel. He set it on George's forehead and immediately got a response. George made a tiny sound, something that sounded like a whimper and a moan at the same time.

"George?" Elliot asked. He didn't get a response but George seemed to be coming around. He gently, yet insistently, stroked the other man's face. "Come on, George," he said encouragingly.

* * *

Consciousness crept in slowly and he became aware of his body. He was in a bed. It was burning hot, though something cold was being put on his head. He felt nauseated and dizzy. His body ached, and a sharp sensation in his chest indicated that he'd been hooked up to a central IV line. He must be in bad shape if that was necessary. He took in a breath, which made his chest burn and throb. He let out a tiny sound and heard a familiar voice calling his name. He wanted to reply but his tongue was thick and heavy. The person stroked a steady rhythm on his face. He moaned in protest.

"C'mon, George," he heard again. He couldn't get his eyes open but he finally got his mouth to work.

"M'awake," he said. His voice was raspy.

"Can you open your eyes?"

He tried again. They opened and he blinked several times, trying to focus. He felt groggy and confused. His vision focused after a moment and he saw Elliot, concern etched on his face. He looked up at him blearily.

"Elliot?" he asked. He winced slightly at the raspy sound. Elliot noticed and grabbed a cup of ice chips. He accepted some and sighed in relief.

"One minute, I'm going to tell them you're awake," Elliot said. He walked over to the door and talked to a nurse for a moment before coming back.

"Do you feel ok?" Elliot asked.

"No. I feel awful," he replied. There wasn't any use in lying.

"That's to be expected," Elliot said. "You were in septic shock. You aren't in any immediate danger anymore but you're still in rough shape. Your lungs are infected and your fever is still high."

That explained the central IV line. He touched it and frowned.

"Is it hurting you?" Elliot asked with concern.

George shook his head. "Not hurting, exactly, just… sharp."

He realized suddenly that Elliot would ask him for his statement soon. He felt dread in his stomach and tried to stall him.

"What time is it?"

"8:00 at night."

"How long will I be here?"

"At least a week. Probably two. You've already been here 5 days."

"I was out that long."

It wasn't really a question but Elliot replied anyway. "Yeah. They found you on a highway."

He wasn't going to be able to avoid it any longer. Elliot's next words confirmed his thought.

"I know you just woke up, but I need your statement. Can you stay awake long enough to give it to me? You can take as long as you need." Elliot spoke gently.

"I… yes. One moment." He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, ignoring the pain it sent through his chest. He touched the IV again, fiddling with the tape as he spoke.

"I had just left a subway station. There was only one person there, besides me. Suddenly he walked towards me and put a gun against my head. He told me to go with him or he'd-" He swallowed hard before continuing.

"-he'd kill me. I was forced into a van. There were about a half dozen in there. They took turns with me. Then the van stopped and they put a rag against my nose and mouth. I passed out." He took a drink from a cup of water on the nightstand, trying to ease the soreness in his throat that wasn't caused by illness.

"I woke up in a poorly constructed… I don't know what to call it. It might have been a house with a lot of cracks, or a cabin. A man came in and cut me; deep enough to hurt terribly but shallow enough so he could do it indefinitely and I wouldn't bleed out." He took another sip of water. He was trying not to cry.

"He told me he would break me down and he knew I was FBI. He stopped eventually and said he wanted to save some of me for the others. It all becomes a blur after that. I was raped and cut and burned. I don't know how long I was there."

Elliot hesitated. "A month," he informed George softly. "One more thing, George. Did they have any distinguishing features?"

George shook his head and began to cry. He managed to stay still through the tears, knowing he had to mind the central line, but it was hard. Elliot tried to find a way to comfort him without disrupting the IV. He set his hand on George's shoulder and leaned forward, murmuring reassurances. George eventually stopped and looked up at him. "This is going to sound odd, but did I wake up before this?"

"Hm?"

"You said I was here five days, and there's something… well, I think something happened but it might have been a dream. Did I wake up before this?" he asked nervously.

"Yeah," Elliot said softly. "You did, sort of. You weren't really making a lot of sense, though."

"What did I say?" He was pretty sure he knew, but he wanted to make sure.

"You said you thought it was a dream because you weren't there anymore."

"Anything else?" Elliot shifted uncomfortably before answering.

"You said you were in love with me."

"I thought so," George whispered.

"I said it back," Elliot informed him. George looked up at him.

"You…"

"I love you, George," Elliot said softly. George sighed.

"What is it?" Elliot asked him.

"I wanted to hear that, but now… I'm not sure about much of anything."

"Anyone would feel doubt after what you've been through," Elliot said softly.

George nodded, accepting the truth of the words. He felt tired again.

"You should get some sleep, George," Elliot said. He stood up and George grasped his arm desperately, feeling a pained need for human contact.

"No, don't go!" He blushed at the needy sound. "I mean, would you please stay, if it's not too much trouble?" Elliot nodded.

"You should still try to sleep though," he told George. George sighed.

"Ok." He realized he still was holding Elliot's hand. He laced his fingers with Elliot's. Elliot paused and then withdrew his hand.

"George, you need time. Just take a little while to start to heal. I'll wait. I promise."

"I… Ok," George said with a defeated sigh. He wanted to protest but he didn't have the energy. It frustrated him that talking was making him so exhausted. He closed his eyes, too tired to keep them open.

"I might have to leave but someone will be here when you wake up again," Elliot told him. George was already asleep before he finished his sentence.

With a sigh, Elliot sat down next to George, his mind whirling.


	8. Chapter 8

Elliot was watching George intently; he seemed to be having an intense nightmare. His brow was creased and he made tiny movements every so often.

Elliot frowned, trying to decide what to do.

George woke up, feeling a lingering fear; he was about to move when he remembered he was in a hospital. Someone was running a cloth on his forehead. It felt perfect against his feverish body- he wished they would put more cool cloths on him. He relaxed a little but opened his eyes to make sure he was safe.

"Hey, George," Elliot murmured when he noticed he was awake.

"Hey."

"Feeling any better?"

"Not really. But that washcloth feels so good."

"It's about time you felt something that didn't hurt you," Elliot said before he could stop himself. "I'm sorry George, I didn't-"

"No, it's all right," he said with a sigh. He closed his eyes.

"I'm going to kick their asses when we get them," Elliot said with a snarl. George stayed quiet, causing Elliot some concern.

"George, you there?" Elliot asked with a soft voice. He shook his shoulder gently. "Wake up."

He opened his eyes. He looked slightly irritated, but lethargic.

"I'm sorry," Elliot whispered. He gritted his teeth to stop himself from punching the bed. He was going to lose control of his anger soon. No one touched George and got away with it. He almost smiled at the thought of Olivia and him double teaming some bastard in the interrogation room.

"Do you want to go back to sleep?" he asked as he distracted himself by resuming the motions with the towel.

"Yes, but first I want to talk a while," George said.

"They're sending in a psychiatrist tomorrow."

"That's not what I meant. But, could you stay with me during the sessions?

"Ok," Elliot said. George didn't smile; Elliot wouldn't be surprised if he didn't smile again for years.

"There's one more thing I want to talk about," George stated.

"Yes?" he asked.

"You're angry," George said simply.

"Not at you."

"I know. But do you want to talk about it?" Elliot almost laughed- not at George, but at the way he was half-asleep and still trying to get people talk about their feelings.

"George, you should only be worrying about recovering right now," Elliot said softly.

"This is kind of like second nature to me," George admitted.

"Well, ignore it for once. Stop putting everyone before yourself and get your energy back. I'll talk to Rebecca or someone."

"Just don't keep it bottled up."

"Ok, ok. I promise I won't. Now will you rest?" he asked. He touched George's hand.

"Ok, Elliot," he said quietly.

"Sleep well, George."

"I haven't been but we'll see," he said. It wasn't long before George was asleep again.

Elliot stood up and started walking around restlessly. George usually spoke confidently, almost energetic. But even talking had taken a herculean effort from him. He spoke almost too quietly to be heard. He felt overwhelmed- he supposed everyone else felt the same. They didn't always see eye-to-eye, and just about everyone had had a fight with him at some point or another, but everyone had fought with everyone, and that didn't mean that it hadn't been awful. They were all on edge and they'd all lost their tempers at suspects lately.

The detectives at the 1-6 had been ordered to talk to someone. He hadn't, yet- the need to be there for George was too great. But he would have to soon.

He sighed and moved his hand over George's chest and stomach. George felt too thin and boney for his liking- he wondered exactly how much weight he'd lost. He hadn't seen George eat anything yet, and though he supposed it was likely that he wasn't hungry at all right now, he still worried.

He leaned down and kissed George's forehead. George's brow creased again, as though he was in pain. Elliot stopped, concerned, but it seemed George was having another nightmare. He hoped it was because of illness rather than an early sign of post-traumatic stress.

The thought made him shiver slightly. That was the last thing George needed- to have his brain replay the memories over and over again. He hoped the hospital shrink would make sure that didn't happen.

Deciding that he, too, should talk to someone sooner rather than later, he pulled open his cell phone and made an appointment with Doctor Hendricks.


	9. Chapter 9

"How close are you to Doctor Huang?" Rebecca Hendricks asked Elliot.

"Not… I mean… We aren't friends in the classic sense. But he's helped me a lot and saved my ass even more."

"Tell me about him."

"He's compassionate, good with vics. We all are, but what's special about him is, even though he hates the crimes we deal with, he treats the perps. We hate them; we're more than happy to forget about them once they go to jail or a mental institute. He doesn't see it as black-and-white, they're bad no matter what once they commit a crime. He sees them as people. He's just so… altruistic."

"It takes a special person to do that," she agreed.

"He just never loses it. Never gets upset. Well, actually, he did once."

"What happened?"

"I took advantage of a suspect's schizophrenia to coerce his confession," Elliot admitted. He was still ashamed of doing that.

"So the only time he's gotten angry has been on behalf of others."

"Yeah."

"How do you think he's coping with what happened to him now?"

"I don't know."

"Have you seen him?"

"Yes."

She looked at him inquiringly. "How was he?"

"He was in bad shape. I rode with him in the ambulance and he had marks everywhere. He was septic, and even when he woke up, he wasn't good- he's almost always sleeping. I've never seen him exhausted at all, let alone lethargic."

"Sepsis does take quite a toll on the body."

"Yeah. I'm just not used to seeing him…"

"Seeing him with human weaknesses?"

"I guess so."

"How do you think his mental health is?"

"He's not really himself."

"That's to be expected. You know how victims are; their world has gone so wrong they're not sure if they'll ever be the same again, and it's even worse for those that have been tortured. Has he talked to you?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"Once, he was semi-delirious and he said he thought he was dreaming."

"Why?"

"Because he wasn't being tortured anymore."

"That must've been hard to hear."

"It was. I felt terrible. I didn't have a lot of time to think about it, though."

"Why?"

"Because then he told me he was in love with me."

"Did he mean it?"

"Yeah. I talked to him a few days later."

"Do you reciprocate the feelings?"

"Yes."

"Even though you've never identified as gay before?"

"It's odd but it's the truth," Elliot said forcefully.

"Have you told him that?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure it's not desire to protect him?"

"Yes, I thought about it a lot. I think it just took this to bring into light."

"Where are you going from here?"

"I told him he needed time to recover before he made any decisions."

"He does."

"He has a long way to go."

"Do you want to be a part of his recovery?"

"Of course. I just can't as his lover, yet," Elliot stated.

"Do you think you can handle it? I've seen you use everything you have to help others until there's nothing left for you. Someone with George's injuries is bound to be a drain- no offense meant, of course. He's been through hell, and I don't minimize that. But he will take a lot of energy to help. In addition, you mentioned you want to be his lover someday. Are you ready to deal with the emotional burden the changes will place on you?"

"If George is there, I can deal with it."

"He gives you drive."

"Yes." There was a pause for a moment before Elliot continued, "I'm almost afraid of catching the guys that did this. I'm not sure if George could handle testifying, and I think I might hurt any suspect we catch. Part of me wants to hand this case to another unit, part of me wants to find the bastards that did this myself and hurt them."

"Have you been working on your anger management?"

"Yeah."

She looked at him for a moment. "That's enough for this session. I want to see you again though."

"Ok," he said as he walked out the door.


	10. Chapter 10

George shifted uncomfortably on his bed. His fever was coming down slowly, but he was sweating a lot and the combination of the two made him feel like he was melting into the mattress. He felt an overwhelming wave of listlessness, and the need to move in response to the heat assaulting his senses.

He tried to move more but Elliot set a hand near his chest and pushed gently before grasping his hand.

"Be careful. You don't want to move too much."

"I know. It's just too hot."

"You ready to talk to the hospital shrink?" Elliot asked him.

"Yeah, I guess," he replied, giving Elliot's hand a squeeze.

Elliot gestured to a woman at the door, who nodded and walked in.

"Hello, Doctor Huang. I'm Beth, a psychiatrist here. The hospital recommended you have one therapy session a day while you're here, correct?"

"Yeah." He was starting to feel nervous. Elliot noticed and grasped his hand tighter.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

"I was tortured by sadists."

"Tell me more," she requested. He reluctantly told her what he'd said in his statement.

"So you're pretty shaken up," she said when he finished.

"Obviously," he said, almost emotionlessly.

"Do you have any suicidal thoughts?"

"No."

"Did you while you were there?"

"Not suicidal… but part of me felt... like I wanted to..." he said slowly.

"It takes a lot to get through that," she said, but she didn't get a response. She noticed that his eyes had closed and he was breathing deeply. "Doctor Huang?" she asked.

Elliot looked up at her. "He drifts in and out sometimes, it's nothing personal. I'll wake him up." He shook George's shoulder gently.

"C'mon George, you have to wake up." He shook his shoulder a little harder.

George jolted awake with a startled shout and started to sit up. He fell back, groaning.

"What did you do that for?" he gasped. He felt nauseous and dizzy. He set a pillow on his churning stomach, hoping that it would calm the nausea. It didn't help, but it didn't get worse either.

"You need to finish the session," Elliot said softly. Beth started speaking.

"You were really startled when detective Stabler woke you up."

"Yes…" he said.

"Why?"

"Because I was having a nightmare," he said shortly.

"What was it about?"

"I was back there."

"Being tortured?"

"Obviously."

"Have you been having those dreams ever since then?"

"Yes," he said with a frustrated huff.

"Any other dreams?"

"No," he said. He tightened his grip on Elliot's hand as he spoke.

"Let's pick up where we were before you fell asleep. Do you have any of the feelings you did then?"

"Sort of," George said, closing his eyes in weariness.

"Why do you say 'sort of'?"

"Because part of me wants to die and part of me doesn't." His answers still had a mechanical feel to them.

"What are your reasons for each?"

"I don't have any reason why I do and why I don't," he said. She looked him over. His world had been shaken, and he was trying to numb the pain with apathy. She knew she needed to at least get him to feel the pain.

"I think I do know why. You want to die because your world came crashing down. You were tortured, raped, beaten-" He winced slightly at each of the words. She continued bluntly. "Anyone would want to die after that. And you don't want to because you aren't ready to give up. And eventually you won't want to at all."

He didn't reply.

"Do you think you'll feel like yourself any time soon?" she asked him.

"No," he said sadly.

"Why?"

His voice cracked as he spoke. "Because I've seen people who've been through this. They never are the same again. Psychiatrists aren't immune from these things."

"We aren't. And you're right that you won't be the same, but that doesn't mean you can't feel ok again. But you know as well as I do that the ones who shut down are in more danger than the ones who open up and let people help them," she stated.

"I tell my patients that, but it doesn't make it any easier."

"A license isn't some magical cure-all. You aren't immune from sickness, injury, failures, and other things. No one is."

"I guess not. My work is proof of that," George said, frowning.

"What's wrong?" she asked him.

"Just… I feel like… what's the good of what I do? What does it accomplish?"

"What you do gets these people off the streets. It gets closure for victims."

"Not often enough. Most are left disappointed."

"But without SVU, they all would be," she said, and George nodded.

"I guess," he said tiredly.

"I'm going to end the session there. I'll see you again tomorrow. Get some rest; you look like you need it," she said. She walked away. Elliot whispered something to George and followed her.

"What do you think?"

"He's traumatized, as anyone who's been tortured and raped is; he feels like justice just doesn't exist. He's slightly detached, though he seems to be trying not to disassociate anymore. He also feels depressed. He does appear to be doing better than others in the situation, however."

"Will he be ok?"

"As long as nothing further happens to set him off, he should be, with time." Elliot looked relieved.

"Thanks."

He walked to the nurse's station and then walked back into George's room.

"I got you some juice and crackers," he said to George. He held the plate up.

"Thanks, but I don't think I can keep anything down."

"You have to eat sometime."

"I can't keep anything down," George repeated.

"Why?"

"Because of the infection and the fact that when I was… there, I rarely ate. I got used to not eating."

"Sorry," Elliot said quietly.

"That juice sounds nice though." Elliot smiled and handed him the glass. George struggled to sit up. Shouldn't he have more energy than that? Elliot wondered.

He helped George up and handed him the glass. He watched George drink deeply, savoring the taste.

Then he let out a shallow cough, which in turn made him cough harder and harder. Elliot set his hand on his chest to give him something to press against.

"Oh God, that hurts!" he exclaimed as the cough subsided. He groaned and rubbed his sternum with one hand, taking careful breaths.

"Aren't they giving you anything for that?" Elliot asked angrily.

"Of course," George sighed. "Along with a dozen other things."

"What's taking so long?" Elliot asked impatiently.

"It's not. Considering the circumstances, anyway." Elliot looked at George closely.

"You should sleep."

"I can't. I'm amazingly exhausted, but… I just can't." George paused a moment.

"How's everyone doing?" he asked, hoping that a conversation would help distract him.

"Good. We all miss you. We can't wait to see you back at work."

"No one's lost it yet?"

"Nah."

"That's good. I'll bet you, Alex, and Olivia came close a few times though."

"Yeah, you're right," Elliot said uncomfortably, not wanting to say how many times he'd almost attacked suspects. He decided to change the subject. "How are you?"

"I'm improving, slowly," he said with a hint of frustration.

"Mentally?" Elliot prodded. George opened his mouth but didn't speak. He paused.

"I'm not so sure. I feel a lot of different things."

"Like what?"

"Just… you know. I blame myself in a lot of ways, and then I tell myself I shouldn't be feeling that, and then it's just a vicious cycle. And I hate that I've been so damn helpless ever since. Physically as well as mentally. "

"It's not your-" George held up a hand to stop him.

"I know. I know. I just can't help it." A silence followed.

"Do you feel anything positive?" Elliot asked to break the silence.

"I still want to be with you."

"I know, I need time," he said before Elliot could speak. "But I still feel it. I think that's a good thing."

"Yeah, I'd say so," Elliot said with a half-smile. "I'll wait for you, though. I promise."

"It just still feels like, at any moment, something else could go wrong that'll make it never happen."

"I know. But you can't stretch yourself."

"When did you become a shrink?" The words were meant to be humorous but they came out slightly bitter.

"Sorry!" George said immediately.

"Don't apologize."

"I'm just wound kind of tight."

"I know. We all are on your behalf." George closed his eyes at the words. Elliot set a hand on his shoulder.

"We're all here for you."

"I know. It means a lot to me." Elliot nodded and gave his shoulder a tiny squeeze. George sighed.

"I think I can sleep now. Thanks."

"No problem." George was asleep a few seconds later.

"It'll work out, George. I'll make sure of that," he whispered.


	11. Chapter 11

The next day, George had another therapy session. Elliot held George's hand during the session, much like the first time.

"Are you feeling any better?" Beth asked.

"Mentally or physically?"

"Both. Start with your physical condition," she clarified.

"It could be better but it could be worse-" The air hissed in his lungs and he coughed painfully. He took a deep breath before continuing. "I still feel awful but I can at least control when I fall asleep."

"Having trouble breathing?" she asked after a moment. George was rubbing his chest with his knuckles.

"Yeah. There's not a whole lot that can help though."

"True. It'll just take time. How are you mentally, then?"

"Um…" He paused, unsure how to word his thoughts.

"I'm not sure," he finished lamely.

"Still having nightmares?" she asked; he swallowed and nodded.

"Care to tell me about them?"

"I know I need to eventually, but it's just too raw right now," he admitted. Elliot raised his eyebrows. It just wasn't like George to refuse to talk.

"Then let's discuss what to do when you're discharged," Beth suggested.

"Well, I haven't thought about it too much," George said.

"What are your goals?"

"Getting back to working with SVU, for one."

"Are you going to be able to handle it?"

"I won't know until I try."

"What if it doesn't?"

"Then I can switch jobs within the FBI. I originally came here to set up VI-CAP, so maybe I could do more with that, or if I can't manage that, I could profile for the NYPD's homicide unit."

"You're still interested in forensic psychiatry?"

"I want to continue profiling," George said.

"But are you interested?"

"Right now, I'm not as interested as I usually am, but I want to regain my interest."

"Have you ever wanted to quit before?"

"Every now and then. But it's always just a fleeting thought and then I decide not to."

"When have you wanted to quit?" Beth asked.

"Once, I was interrogating a convicted serial killer with Elliot-" He inclined his head to Elliot, who was sitting silently next to him- "And we got attacked. I wanted to quit because I almost got killed over such a mundane thing- he wouldn't have been able to if I had noticed he was trying to time a shift change. He bashed my head into a wall and I woke up in the hospital with one hell of a migraine." He gave a wry smile. "It was a pretty painful mistake."

"Do you blame yourself for that incident?"

"Mostly. I know he's the one who attacked me, but I should have known."

"Do you blame yourself for what happened to you when you were tortured?" Beth asked bluntly. George took a deep breath.

"Yes and no. I do blame myself- it's a natural response. But as a psychiatrist, I end up telling myself that I shouldn't be, and then I blame myself for that." He looked downwards as he chose his next words. "And, part of me still doesn't believe it's not a dream, and I feel guilty for not believing it's real."

"You don't believe it's real because of your nightmares," Beth stated. George nodded. "Can you talk about them?"

"No," George whispered.

"I'm going to end the session there, then," Beth said. Her voice wasn't judgmental in the least, but George still felt the need to apologize.

"Sorry, I just can't do it." Hearing George, who had once been supremely confident, saying those words startled Elliot.

"It's ok," Beth said. She flashed him a reassuring smile. "No one blames you. You'll be able to talk about it eventually."

George fell asleep a minute after the therapist left. Just as Elliot was about to leave, he jolted awake, gasping and looking around the room wildly. Elliot set a hand on George's shoulder, and he jumped again.

"George, do you want to talk?" Elliot asked with concern.

"No!" he snapped. Then his face softened. "Sorry... I'm just overwhelmed."

"It's ok," Elliot reassured him.

"Do you want to go back to sleep?" he asked George. George shook his head.

"I've been sleeping too much." The tone of the words gave away his real thoughts.

"Not for someone in your condition. What's the real reason?" Elliot pressed.

"There isn't one."

"It's your nightmares?" It was more a statement than a question.

"Yes," he admitted with a shiver.

"So you don't want to sleep because of them."

"Yeah," George whispered. He shivered again.

"Sorry," Elliot said.

"There's nothing to be sorry about." George shifted uncomfortably. There was a long silence. Eventually Elliot spoke.

"I hope we catch the bastards that did this. I think we will."

"I..." George trailed off, not wanting to admit his thoughts. Elliot picked up on his tone.

"You don't think we'll catch them?" George averted his gaze.

"Firstly, their MO makes it unlikely, unless they get to the point where they just don't care anymore and they leave evidence behind. Secondly, even if they leave evidence behind, there's no guarantee we can link it to anyone, and, finally, if we do get someone, I'm not sure we'll get a conviction. I'm not getting my hopes up," George said dejectedly. Elliot had never seen George so pessimistic- it was unnerving. George closed his eyes for a minute and allowed a guilty look to cross his face.

"What's wrong?" Elliot asked. George averted his gaze.

"I'm so grateful to be back… but it's like I'm not even back. At first, while I was there, I thought about being rescued, and then I only dreamed about it. And then I totally gave up. I wanted them to kill me, Elliot. And now I'm here, and I can't feel relieved or anything because I'm still there mentally, with the nightmares and my emotions."

The admission startled Elliot. "Is there anything I can do?" Elliot asked quietly. George shook his head. "Will you feel better when you leave here?"

"Maybe," George said.

"Have they decided when you'll be discharged?"

"I can leave in a few days, if I have somewhere to go."

"Want to come to my place?" Elliot asked.

"If it's not too much trouble?" George said tentatively.

"It isn't."

"What about your kids?" George inquired.

"They've been living with Kathy. I can arrange something for visits." George looked slightly more relaxed. Elliot looked around the room for a while.

"You know, I never appreciated you as much as I should," Elliot admitted.

"It's-" George began. Elliot cut him off.

"No, it's not OK. Just because I felt uncomfortable in our sessions doesn't mean it was your fault or that you deserved how I treated you."

"Apology accepted, then," George said quietly. Another long silence ensued.

"I need to ask you something," George began suddenly. Elliot looked at him. "I just don't know how to phrase it."

"What is it, George?"

"I feel afraid of the answer, but you know how there were five days between when I was found and when I woke up?" Elliot nodded. "Well, what was- what was I... like during those five days? I know I probably came close to death- maybe I even died- what was the extent of it?"

Elliot moved closer to him. "That can wait until you've healed,"he said softly.

"I can tell I was pretty close, then," George concluded.

"You were," Elliot acknowledged. He sat down next to George and kissed the top of his head. "You're safe now, though."

"It's hard to believe," George said again.

"I'm going to protect you," Elliot whispered. "I promise."

George tried and struggled to sit up. Elliot set a hand on his chest, wordlessly telling him to stay still.

"You know, I never thought of the people I profiled like real people at all,"George said as he sank into the pillows. His voice sounded brittle. "I studied them, learned about them and from them. Even when I interviewed the worst perpetrators, I still detached myself, like I was reading a book. And now I've been affected personally by them. It feels like some kind of payback for not fearing them or something."

"In our line of work, you have to be detached- you even more than others. And, to profile someone, you have to make them into data anyway. You didn't do anything wrong. You don't deserve it," Eliot said.

"Right now, everything feels really wrong," George confessed.

"It will for a while," Elliot murmured. "You just can't give up."

"I guess," George said half-heartedly, before closing his eyes.

"You should sleep, you know," Elliot whispered as he stroked George's hair.

"I really don't need to."

"Will talking about your nightmares help?" George opened his eyes.

"No. There's really nothing to say about them, Elliot," George said edgily.

"Yeah, there is. You wouldn't talk about them to the hospital shrink; will you at least talk to me?"

"I can't," George whispered shakily; he closed his eyes again.

Elliot could tell that George was exhausted despite his insistence that he had been sleeping too much. He continued to stroke George's hair. "You need to rest, George," Elliot repeated.

"I don't want to," George said. A tear streaked down his face, and he turned away as much as he could without hurting himself. He watched his heart rate on the monitor next to him. He was tachycardic, he noticed. 140 beats per minute. He took a deep breath.

"George. Look at me," Elliot said. With great difficulty, George turned and met his gaze.

"It'll be ok. You need some time, but it will be ok," Elliot whispered. He sat down next to George and embraced him.

"That's hard to believe," George said. He rested his head on Elliot's leg. Elliot rubbed George's back.

"It'll be ok," Elliot repeated, almost to himself as much as to George.

After a while he managed to coax George into sleeping again. He knew how afraid George felt, but he couldn't let George deny his body sleep.

Elliot was upset to notice that George began having another nightmare almost immediately. He rubbed his shoulder, which seemed to calm him somewhat.

Elliot's phone vibrated. Not wanting to disturb George, he began to move away gently. George made an abortive gesture to keep him close. Feeling guilty, he walked into the hall.

"Stabler," he said shortly.

"Elliot, the feds want to take George's case, and if you don't want them to, you're going to have to come here," Cragen said without preamble. Elliot swallowed.

"I'll be there, cap," Elliot said. He wasn't going to let the feds take his chance to get justice for George. Or, more accurately, to get revenge.


	12. Chapter 12

Elliot walked back in to get his things just as George started mumbling in his sleep. He felt his forehead; the fever was still high despite the fact that it had been decreasing over the last few days. But he knew that wasn't the cause.

His thoughts were confirmed when a tiny whimper escaped George. He shook George's shoulder, but it only got worse. George cried out, sounding anguished and terrified. It was a gut-wrenching sight. He flung his arms, obviously trying to defend himself against someone. Frantically, Elliot tried to stop him without worsening his nightmare or hurting him. He yelled for a nurse.

They stood over him again, their faces crystal clear even in the dark. They moved towards him and he could only whimper as they got closer. Then they reached him and started attacking. He screamed, pain and fear taking over. The implements of torture came at him. He tried to fight back but his arms only flailed uselessly. He tried desperately to do more, to get away—but nothing worked. He was helpless.

A nurse ran in. "It's a typical night terror, but he could end up hurting himself. He will have difficulty waking up during them but some medicines can help calm him down," the nurse explained before injecting the medicine into his IV. George moaned again, and tears streaked down Elliot's face against his volition.

George seemed to relax after a few moments. Elliot was still alarmed.

"Is he going to be ok?" he croaked. George's anguished scream still echoed in his mind. It terrified him.

"With time, he should be," she said. "But, if the night terrors get worse, he might hurt himself. If that happens we may have to restrain him."

"Restraints will only make it worse," Elliot argued.

"If worst comes to worst, we may have to anyway. But nothing's certain yet."

Harsh, agonized breaths escaped him as he lay on the floor. Despair settled firmly in his veins. He closed his eyes, wishing for…

But suddenly, the pain vanished and an odd sense of calm came over him. He wasn't sure what caused it, but he was thankful. After the pain, feeling this numb and apathetic was welcome. He spent a moment marveling at the new sensation before he noticed he was being tugged to sleep. He offered no resistance and the quiet darkness engulfed him.

The nurse informed him that visiting hours were over, and even though that rarely applied to cops, he had to leave. Elliot wanted to stay a minute longer, but it would raise suspicions. No one knew about the feelings George and he had except for Olivia and Hendricks, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Elliot brushed a hand over George's before he left, and though he was still shaken, he headed for the 16th precinct.

"Any new leads on the case?" Elliot asked as he walked into the squad room. He shivered at the pictures of the various victims. Besides George, there had been five other men. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. In his head the idea sounded strange, but he knew that he had to let George go for a while to get justice for him.

"Well, George mentioned that it was like a crudely constructed cabin," Olivia said. "That means it was probably in a woodsy area."

"And how many of those are there?" Elliot asked pointedly. Olivia sighed.

"It's a start. Maybe George will be able to tell us more when he recovers."

"I don't think he'll be able to, Liv. He said it became a blur, and towards the end he started getting sick. No one would be able to recall any more details. George could probably give a basic description for a sketch artist, but I think that otherwise what we have is all we can count on."

Olivia rubbed her forehead. "He's the only living victim. There has to be something..."

"His attackers— one of them, at least— knew he was FBI," Elliot said. "That means something. Maybe George treated this guy in the past, when he was still a counselor, and those guys followed him."

"Maybe," Olivia agreed with a frown. She took another look at the pictures.

"We just aren't getting anywhere," Elliot fumed suddenly. Olivia looked at him.

"We should ask for help from another profiler," Olivia suggested. Elliot shook his head disapprovingly.

"The only shrinks I trust are Huang and Hendricks."

"Elliot, Rebecca can't profile for us, and it's not like George is going to be able to work this case. He might not even want to be a psychiatrist anymore," Olivia reasoned.

"You're right that he can't work the case, but he's definitely still interested in psychiatry," Elliot said.

"You have to trust someone else. Let's ask for a profiler," Olivia reiterated.

"All right," Elliot said. He closed his eyes and covered them with his hands for a moment.

"Elliot, what is it?" Olivia asked softly. She sat down next to him. "When you came in, you looked so shaken. What happened?"

"George has been having nightmares about what happened. And today—" He swallowed. "—he had another one, and he was making these pained noises in his sleep. He couldn't have possibly sounded like he was in worse pain."

Olivia sucked in a breath. "Do you think he's getting PTSD?"

"I think he is," Elliot said sadly.

"George is tough. He can do this," Olivia said.

"I hope so," Elliot said. He looked at the corkboard again. "Do you think we'll catch them?"

"Yes," Olivia said firmly.

"Do you think we'll have solid evidence against them?"

"George's testimony will be enough," Elliot nodded silently, hoping for some act of God to make the evidence lead him somewhere.

Hours later, Elliot walked into his bedroom, feeling exhausted. His mind was whirling from trying to figure out the details about George's attackers- he had gained a new respect for George's job. He fell asleep, completely exhausted.

Elliot rarely dreamed, but this time he had one—or, rather, a nightmare.

"George?" he called as he walked into a blank room. He got no response, but he did see George lying on the ground.

"George?" he called again. George moaned helplessly. Elliot looked him over, noting the injuries. Just as he was about to help him, he was pushed away.

"Hey!" he yelled. He tried to get back to help George, but he couldn't get closer. He saw George's pain but he couldn't do anything about it.

When he woke up the next morning, his face was wet with tears.


	13. Chapter 13

Elliot walked into George's room, trying to be quiet so the sleeping man wouldn't be disturbed.

"Elliot…" George's small voice said. Elliot couldn't tell whether he was awake or not.

"George?" he called softly.

"Where are you?" George mumbled the question. After deciding George was definitely sleeping, he sat down next to him and shook his shoulder gently. He usually didn't wake George up, but if George was having a nightmare it was better to wake him up before it escalated like it had the previous day.

"Uh!" George gasped as he woke up. He looked around wildly. "Oh good, it's you…"

Elliot had never heard someone sound so relieved just from seeing another person.

"Yeah, it's me," he said with a soft smile. He tried to ease George back down and was caught off-guard when George suddenly set his head on Elliot's stomach, wrapping his arms around his waist and embracing him. Elliot returned the hug gently.

"Are you all right?" he asked the smaller man. George didn't respond.

"Another nightmare?" Elliot asked quietly. He kept one arm wrapped around George and used the other to stroke George's hair.

"Yes," George said quietly.

"My nightmares always involve people I care about getting hurt," Elliot confessed.

"Did you have one last night?" George asked knowingly.

"Yeah." They sat in their own thoughts for a while.

"Elliot, can I ask you something?" George began hesitantly.

"Of course," Elliot said.

"What did you guys do while I was gone?" he asked softly.

Elliot sighed deeply. "We worked with Missing Persons to find you. We didn't have any sort of lead, no witnesses. We looked at hospital admissions and everything. After a few days we had to work on other cases, but we still tried to find you. I'd just about given up, when I got this call that someone had found you on a highway and you were asking for me. I drove to find you there… I had thought I'd never see you again. And then I almost lost you right after I got you back."

"I flatlined, didn't I?" George asked.

"You did. They got you back quickly, though and they don't think anything will be damaged," Elliot stated. George took a few deep breaths and then rubbed his chest as it started hurting again. When the throbbing subsided he leaned in closer to Elliot.

"I heard you. I heard you yelling for help and everything," he whispered shakily. He recalled what had happened and told Elliot.

_It wasn't that he floating, but it was close enough. He heard various voices around him but they were so distant that he barely noticed them. The only noise he could hear was his own breathing, and he was worried to notice how awful the sound was._

_After a while he felt like he wasn't getting any air. Just as he noticed that, he heard a panicked voice yelling for help. It sounded like Elliot. Was Elliot ok? He wanted to check but the noise stopped and he felt someone pressing on his chest. Then he felt something being shoved down his throat. He wanted to protest but the object- a breathing tube, he realized- was being put securely in place. Didn't they only use this type of ventilator on unconscious patients? He felt confused at that. He wasn't unconscious, was he?_

_Then he heard Elliot's voice._

_"Please hang on. I… I love you. It'll be hard but I'll protect you." Then there was a pause before Elliot said, "I'll wait for you, George."_

_Then he realized exactly what was going on. He was unresponsive and he was in critical condition._

_But the fact that Elliot cared was what he focused on. It was the only good thing he'd felt in a long time. He felt a wave of emotion come over him, but he couldn't do anything about it. He could just wait and see if he survived._

"After that I don't remember much, but…" George trailed off.

"That must have been horrible. I'm sorry." Elliot ran a hand over George's cheek as he spoke. George placed his hand over Elliot's and leaned into the touch.

Elliot moved George so that he was lying down, then he turned on his side next to him, getting as close to George as possible, and kissed George's cheek gently. George's breath hitched.

"George?"

"I feel nervous," George admitted.

"Relax," Elliot murmured. He set his hand over George's heart, feeling the quickened beats. He knew both anxiety and illness were causing the fast heartbeats. "Relax."

"I don't think I can," George admitted. He flinched as Elliot rubbed his chest around the IV, but he felt some of the tension slowly leaving him. He had never known Elliot could be soothing.

And then Elliot pulled George closer to him and rested his forehead against his. George looked directly into Elliot's eyes and was shocked to see the tears beginning to escape them. He had never seen Elliot cry, let alone crying over him.

"Elliot?" George whispered.

"I'm so sorry. You deserve better than what happened to you," Elliot choked out.

"Elliot-" Suddenly Elliot's lips were pressed against his. It was a tender, comforting kiss. George welcomed the human contact, the soft, warm lips against his. Elliot's tears dripped onto his face, and Elliot pulled away, still crying.

"You've been through hell and I should have been able to stop it! I should have been able to save you— it was so clear in my head what was going to happen. I was going to get a lead, I was going to burst into some building, hurt the people who dared to attack you, and I was going to help get you out of wherever they had you and you were going to be frazzled but okay. Instead you got toyed with by those freaks and you almost died."

"Elliot, you don't blame yourself, do you?" George asked sadly.

"Fuck yes I do," Elliot growled.

"You shouldn't-"

"You aren't going to waste your breath comforting me. You're the one they hurt."

"They hurt you too, indirectly. And I'm fine-"

"The hell you're fine!" Elliot exclaimed heatedly.

"I'm not fine, but I will be eventually," George amended. "Elliot, please, don't become their victim too."

"Stop doing that! Focus your strength on healing and getting the nightmares to stop before it turns into PTSD. The hard part isn't close to over."

"I'll use my strength how I want to," George countered.

His lips found Elliot's, and this time the kiss got deeper, though lust still wasn't a factor. He sighed in contentment…

Elliot's cell phone rang. Cursing, Elliot broke the kiss and answered.

"Stabler," He barely managed to avoid making his voice a snarl. "I'll be there."

His face softened slightly as he turned to George.

"I need to go to the precinct to work on your case. Otherwise the FBI will take over."

"Then let them. I don't care who has my case but I do care about who's with me. I need you."

"This is something I have to do. I have to be the one to catch them, George." George met his gaze and saw the emotion there.

"Ok." George gave in. Elliot kissed George again.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Elliot," George said against his lips. Elliot broke away and stood up.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised.

"Ok," George said softly. Elliot brushed a feather-light kiss against his forehead before leaving.

The room felt empty the instant Elliot left. George felt a hint of loneliness, but then he smiled softly as he touched his lips. He still felt restless but talking to Elliot had helped some.

He noticed that he felt tired. He didn't want to sleep, since he knew he would have another nightmare, but Elliot would lecture him if he tried to stay awake. He closed his eyes and fell into an uneasy sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

It broke Elliot's heart to leave, but once he got to the squad room at the 1-6, he knew he'd made the right choice. One glance at the pictures of George covered in cuts and bruises and burns, looking more dead than alive and a fire ignited inside him. He had to be the one to cuff whoever had done this.

Agent Mike Torres walked up to Elliot.

"Hello. I assume you're the FBI profiler who will be helping us?" Elliot asked.

"Yes I am. So, detective Stabler, what's the case you need me to work with?"

"A couple of sadists are working together and torturing men before killing them. They recently attacked a profiler who works with us, but he survived," Elliot explained.

"I assume you have a profile for them?"

Elliot recited the profile George had formed before he got taken, while Mike analyzed the photos.

"Huang's profile seems spot on. There's just one thing I don't understand. They're incredibly intelligent— they have to be, if they managed this long without being caught. They wouldn't chance a victim living and being able to testify against them. Maybe they were sure they had made him unable to testify anyway. Though I still don't see why they suddenly slipped from their MO of killing their victims before leaving them somewhere and changed it to leaving them for dead."

"Huang was so close to death when we found him. Maybe they thought they didn't need to."

"But they would have wanted it to be at their hands. They would have wanted to watch him suffer. Unless their MO changed. Again, what prompted it? We need that piece of the puzzle."

"Is there any way to catch them?"

"At this point, I'm pretty sure it's only going to happen if they lose interest in what they're doing and get careless."

Elliot felt a wave of anger come over him. "So, what, George is never going to get justice?"

Mike raised his eyebrows. "It may be likely that _all six_ of the victims won't see justice," he said deliberately. Elliot knew exactly what Mike meant. Before he could retort, Mike began trying to analyze him.

"You're awfully emotional about doctor Huang."

"It would be the same if anyone I knew was attacked."

"So anyone you knew being attacked would make you forget that there are other victims?"

"I guess so."

"Then maybe you need to consider a change, detective."

"Fine, I wouldn't be like that for everyone," Elliot snapped.

"What's special about him to you?"

"Torres, you just got here and I'm not talking to you. I only trust two people to be inside my head," Elliot growled.

"Suit yourself. I'm done with my profile for now, so unless you want to ask me anything, I'm heading out." Elliot didn't offer any resistance and Mike left.

Elliot ran the MO through the system again. Nothing. He altered little details, trying an infinite number of combinations. Finally, he got a hit. A similar MO matched Eric Keyes, charged with rape five years ago…. Found not guilty by reason of mental disease or defect. His sister had testified against him, claiming to have seen him assaulting a woman.

It wasn't much, but he decided to question her.

"Hello, I'm detective Elliot Stabler," Elliot said to Sheryl Keyes. "I would like to ask about your brother."

"What did he do now?" She snorted.

"You're angry with him?"

"That prick ruined some woman's life. He's lucky vigilantism is against the law or I would've hurt him."

"Can I come in and talk?" She nodded and opened the door.

"I suppose but I have to leave soon," she stated.

"That's no problem, I appreciate you talking to me."

"No problem."

"What did Eric do when he assaulted that woman?"

"He stripped her and did all this awful stuff to her. Cutting, burning… and he humiliated her," she said in disgust. "He told a shrink he enjoyed it right after he got committed."

"Did he ever say he'd like to continue torturing people?" She frowned, concentrating.

"He did at first. Then he stopped for a while, when he was being treated at Bellevue. Then recently he started giving hints. Nothing outright, but saying things like 'He deserves pain' about some people."

"Did he ever mention anyone specific he wanted to hurt?" Elliot asked.

"He did say he hated the shrink that talked to him when he was first committed."

"What was the shrink's name?" She closed her eyes, trying to remember.

"Jeff? No… George! And the last name… H... H something… Huang!"

Elliot's blood ran cold.

"Will you be at this address if I need to talk to you again?" Elliot asked quickly.

"Yeah, but what is it? You look terrified," she commented, concerned now.

"George is a friend of mine," he said shortly. "See you, and thanks." He turned and practically sprinted to his car, ignoring the woman calling after him.

"George had better be able to identify him!" he thought to himself as he threw his car door open. He drove as fast as he could to the hospital.


	15. Chapter 15

"Mmph... Elliot…" George murmured in his sleep.

Elliot cursed silently. George's fever was finally breaking, evidenced by the fact that he was shaking and sweating, but that also meant that George would be disoriented and confused when he woke up.

Just as he was about to sit down, a doctor came in to look George over.

"I was worried that we might have to do another round of intravenous antibiotics, but he should be fine with pills. The central IV can come out and be replaced with one in his wrist, and he can leave tomorrow or the day after."

"He'll be happy about that," Elliot stated. The doctor smiled and updated George's information before tugging the IV out. George woke up and looked around.

"Better?" Elliot asked.

"Hmm? Oh, I guess so," George muttered distractedly. Elliot looked at the doctor who was readying a new IV for George and got a reassuring nod. _Nothing to worry about._

The doctor quickly put the IV in George's wrist before leaving. George rubbed his eyes, trying to focus.

"What's goin' on?" George mumbled, disoriented.

"Nothing," Elliot lied. He sat down next to George and handed him a glass of water, which George drank quickly.

"What's going on?" George repeated insistently, more alert now.

"Do you remember evaluating someone named Eric Keyes a few years ago?"

George took in a sharp breath, which triggered a bout of coughing. He took a sip of water and blinked at Elliot. "He was one of the first perps I evaluated after I transferred here. He was sadistic and very...open about his desire to hurt others. Not that it would be a bad thing if he did it out of a desire to be helped, but he did it because he wanted me to be afraid of him. Did you find something linking him to the case?"

"I checked VI-CAP. His MO is similar to that of the guys who attacked you. Does he look anything like any of the group members?"

"I don't remember, but I could identify him in a line-up. The thing is, he never seemed interested in attacking with a group—"

"Don't profile right now. Relax." George complied and leaned into Elliot. He noticed that he was shaking and he frowned.

"It's because your fever's coming down." Elliot answered his unspoken question. "Now that your temperature is returning to normal and your antibiotics are done, they said you can leave soon."

"Good," George said, relieved. He settled against Elliot, resting his head on Elliot's chest. Elliot's arms wrapped around him. He found that his body didn't seem to care that he'd spent more time asleep than awake lately, and was demanding more sleep.

"Will you be here awhile?" George asked.

"Yeah."

"If it looks like I'm having a nightmare, wake me up," George requested. He relaxed into Elliot's embrace and drifted off with the sound of Elliot's heartbeat in his ears.

Elliot frowned, watching George carefully. Even though George didn't look like he was an inch away from death anymore, it would be a long time before Elliot would use "healthy" to describe him. He gently laid George back down before looking him over, taking note of his condition.

George had slept almost constantly at first, sometimes nearly 20 hours a day, but he'd been started staying awake for longer periods of time. George still slept excessively, but it was an improvement.

He had begun eating light foods, so he was gaining some weight back, and his skin was starting to look a little less pallid. George's chest was rising and falling steadily, a sharp contrast to the labored breaths that he'd been taking when he'd been found. Touching two fingers to George's jugular vein, he felt a strong heartbeat, although it was too fast. Unlike the pulse he had felt in the ambulance, this one was reassuring. It felt like a heartbeat should—a strong, unwavering proof of life.

But the cuts and bruises still looked awful, even more so because of the sickly skin tone. And his lungs were still infected and inflamed, causing asthma-like symptoms and a painful cough. There had been times where Elliot had worried that George might snap a rib, though that fortunately hadn't happened.

Elliot was more or less satisfied with George's physical progress; he would soon be back to normal, minus the scars. His main concern now was George's mental state. He had a lot of problems he would have to deal with— his recovery couldn't be judged on his body's health alone.

Just after he reached that conclusion, George grabbed at Elliot as though trying to find something. Elliot shook his shoulder gently.

A fog was around him and he tried in vain to escape, but nothing worked. He saw Elliot and began to walk towards him only to find one of his attackers. He turned around and managed to get away, but total darkness greeted him. He couldn't escape it; he was completely lost in the dark.

"No!" George yelled as he jolted awake.

"George, it's ok!" Elliot exclaimed. The look on George's face was heartbreaking— panic and a myriad of other emotions ranging from confusion to despair.

"Relax; it was just a fever dream," Elliot said, stroking George's face. Beads of sweat clung to the skin.

"What was it this time?"

"I was in a fog and I tried to find you… but I got, um, lost." Elliot frowned and eased George back down.

"Do you feel any better physically?" Elliot asked, feeling George's forehead.

"No," George said, shaking his head.

"You don't feel too warm anymore," Elliot noted.

"I still feel awful," George complained. Elliot took it as a good sign that he wasn't too listless to care about the sickness he felt. George's lethargy had been a cause for concern the last few days, and he hadn't been able to figure out whether it had been the infection or an apathetic depression. He was glad that it was the former.

"You'll feel better," Elliot said simply. He kissed the top of George's head and George closed his eyes. Elliot felt an equal amount of relief and worry as he watched George.

Suddenly he remembered why he had come here in the first place. He quietly left the room to make a phone call.

"This changes everything, detective!" Mike exclaimed as Elliot informed him about he had discovered.

"One of them mentioned that they knew he was FBI and now that I know he may have been treated by Huang in the past, I think this could very easily have been a personal attack."

"Why would they attack others?"

"It is possible that they 'practiced' on the others, so to speak, before they got him."

"Does that mean George missed a profile? And that they won't attack again?"

"Not necessarily— sadists enjoy hurting anyone, but they may single a person out, too. They will probably attack again, although now that their MO has changed, we might not be able to go on that anymore."

"What do we do now?"

"Hope that Huang can provide a decent sketch and hope that these guys come to the city at some point and are identified."

"All right," Elliot said in resignation.

"Good luck, detective," Mike said simply.

Next, Elliot called for a sketch artist to come to George's hospital room the next day. With that taken care of, Elliot hung up and walked back in the room. He sat down next to George again and grasped one of his hands, holding it between both of his.

The memory of George's night terror was still clear. He closed his eyes, trying to shake the thought away. He hoped making George describe his attackers wouldn't make him worse— he would never forgive himself if it did.

Doubt entered his mind. Should he force those memories back for George? Then again, testifying in court would be even harder than producing a sketch, so if George couldn't handle that... Although, he still hadn't asked George about testifying. He assumed the doctor would want the closure that came from getting justice, but for all he knew George could have already decided to do what many victims did- simply move on without seeking justice. Elliot realized that he should have asked before arranging for George to talk the sketch artist.

Elliot sighed and watched the steady rise and fall of George's chest. Besides Elliot's need to see justice delivered, and George's possible feelings, there was the indisputable fact that these men needed to be taken off the streets. They were dangerous and George was the only person who could stop them. It was an incredibly unfair burden, Elliot knew. He wanted to place it on someone else, but there was no one else he could turn to.

It was difficult, it felt wrong, and it made Elliot feel heartless, but Elliot made George's choice for him.


	16. Chapter 16

"Elliot, I can't do this," George protested as the sketch artist walked in the room.

"You just have to say what they look like. It won't be harder than giving your statement was." Elliot felt guilty as he spoke. He felt like hurting himself for trying to minimize the difficulty of George's situation.

"Do you have any idea how hard it was to give that statement?" George asked incredulously.

"Well, you'll have to do it when you testify..."

"IF I testify," George corrected him. He sat up slowly.

"You're seriously considering refusing to testify?" Elliot asked.

"Yes," George said. "I know forgetting about it is impossible, but I don't want any reminders, either."

"You psychiatrists always talk about the closure victims get—"

"From seeing their rapist or rapists put in jail. But not everyone is the same," George interrupted.

"George, I'm really sorry. Can you just do this for now, and then we can go from there if we find them? If you don't do this, we have no chance of catching them anyway, so if you decide not to and then change your mind you'll be out of luck. Worst case, you do this and then you don't testify."

"Fine," George said shakily.

"Take your time," Elliot said. The sketch artist waited patiently for George to begin. George took a few minutes to get ready before beginning.

"Ok. The first one was white, medium-length brown hair, green eyes. Average build and height. No tattoos or birthmarks, good complexion." He shivered slightly.

"The second one was also white, but with short blond hair and blue eyes. He had a more muscular build and was taller. No tattoos or birthmarks."

"The third one was, again, white, and he had short dark brown hair, brown eyes, a good build, and was the shortest. Again, no tattoos or anything distinctive. I didn't see anyone else in any detail. The first one was the one who attacked me most often and most violently," he added.

The sketch artist held each of the pictures up. George nodded. "Yes, that's what they look like." He shuddered again and closed his eyes.

"Be sure to send a copy to Captain Cragen," Elliot instructed. The artist nodded and left.

"George?" Elliot asked, turning to him. George turned away.

"George, I'm sorry," he whispered.

"I know. I don't want to talk about it," George said shortly.

"Well, now you don't have to do anything until we get them," Elliot noted. He sat down next to him and hugged him.

"That's great," George said half-heartedly. Elliot could tell George was trying not to sound pessimistic, which only added to Elliot's guilt.

"I shouldn't have forced you. I should have let you decide," Elliot admitted ashamedly.

"I knew it was only a matter of time before I would have to and it's better that I got it done quickly."

"You should be furious with me," Elliot said guiltily.

"But I'm not. That doesn't do anyone any good," George stated.

"You're shrinking yourself," Elliot noted.

"Yeah, well…"

"You don't need to take the high ground," Elliot said with a half smile.

"The alternative is yelling at you, which I don't particularly want to do."

"Even if that means bottling up you anger?"

"I don't want to use you as an outlet," George stated. Elliot embraced George tightly.

"I love you," Elliot said. He kissed him gently, his hands stroking his back. George closed his eyes but returned the kiss.

"I love you too," George replied. George found himself comforted by the strong arms wrapped around him. He leaned in for another kiss.

"Am I interrupting something?" A doctor asked amusedly as she walked in the room. Startled, they broke away quickly.

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. I'm just going to look you over one more time and then write up your discharge papers." Elliot moved back into the chair by the bed. The doctor took George's temperature and then his blood pressure, nodding approvingly at each.

She frowned as she listened to his lungs. "The antibiotics have mostly cleared your infection, but your lungs sound crackly and you're still pretty tachycardic. Steam will be pretty good for your lungs so be sure to run a shower when you get home."

George let a long sigh. The doctor gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Other than that, you're looking pretty good. You're ready to go."

"Finally, some good news," George said.

"A nurse will be in soon to give you your prescriptions and to see you out," she said as she walked out the door.

Elliot turned to George. "I'll leave you alone for a minute while you get dressed."

He'd gone to George's home the night before and grabbed some clothes and other various necessities for the next few weeks. He stood in the doorway, his back to the room. George slowly changed into the clothing. To his dismay, he discovered that they were now too big for him.

Elliot walked back in and noticed George staring at his clothes in disbelief.

"I was wondering if you'd noticed," Elliot said cautiously. George shook his head.

"I guess I was too busy sleeping and having breakdowns," he said in disgust. "How did I miss this?"

"Hey, it's not like you didn't have bigger issues to worry about. And on the bright side, everything I cook has lots of fat and calories," Elliot joked. He put an arm around George's shoulder. George didn't reply.

A nurse walked back in, pushing a wheelchair.

"I'm a doctor and I still hate this rule," George complained. Elliot gave a small laugh before helping George to stand up. The smaller man seemed unsteady on his feet, but, Elliot reminded himself, he had just spent the last two weeks lying down, barely moving at all. And before that… he shook the thought from his head and lowered George into the chair. Few words were said as they steered George towards the parking area. Finally they got to Elliot's minivan and Elliot helped George into the car.

"What do you want for dinner?" Elliot asked as he started the car.

"I don't know. Something plain—my stomach is still sensitive," George said. He looked out the window, not saying anything for awhile.

"What are you thinking about?" Elliot asked, having noticed that George seemed to be deep in thought.

"I just have this feeling like I need to say something meaningful."

"You don't need to. It's ok," Elliot reassured him. He took one hand off the steering wheel and set it on George's knee. George tensed for a brief moment before setting his hand on Elliot's.

"What are you going to do if your kids want to visit?"

"For the first few days I'll probably just go meet them. If—when—you feel up to it they'll come in the apartment."

"How will you get away with not letting them in the apartment?"

"I told Kathy and the kids I was helping a sick and injured FBI agent. I didn't tell them any specifics."

"Okay," George said simply. The rest of the ride was spent in silence. George closed his eyes and leaned back in the seat, relaxing somewhat, while Elliot thought about what would happen the next few days.

Elliot had taken some time off so that he would be able to help George around for at least a week. He would occasionally have to leave to work on the case but not for too long at a time.

He was still seeing Hendricks for anger management and other problems. George had opted to see her as well and his first session would be in a few days. Elliot worried slightly that she might push George too hard, making his nightmares worse, but he didn't think it was likely.

He still hadn't told anyone but Olivia about the night terror George had had. It seemed that George remembered the nightmare, but he didn't know that he had showed any physical signs. Elliot wasn't sure whether he ought to inform him. He did want George to know but he didn't want to scare him or make him feel guilty, either. He glanced at George, who was either asleep or just closing his eyes. The way George was resting made him look frail. He decided to tell him when George was better equipped to handle it.

Elliot sighed deeply, wondering when that time would come.


	17. Chapter 17

An hour later they arrived at Elliot's apartment building. Elliot parked as close as he could and walked over to George's door. He leaned over to shake George's shoulder.

"I'm awake," George said. He opened his eyes.

"Need help standing up?" George began to shake his head, but then he nodded. Elliot pulled George upwards. He used his arms to hold George while he struggled to keep his balance.

Once Elliot was sure George could stand on his own he released his grip, though he kept one arm under George's shoulders to steady him. They moved slowly towards Elliot's apartment.

George was panting for breath by the time they got in the elevator. Elliot's concern rose when he noticed that George looked paler, too. George caught his gaze.

"It's my lungs. They'll clear up soon though," he said between pants. They reached the floor Elliot's apartment was on and George started to take another step. Elliot shook his head.

"That isn't going to work." George was about to ask what he meant but found himself being lifted effortlessly by Elliot, who started carrying him towards the apartment. He didn't have the energy to protest. Instead he wrapped his arms around Elliot's neck for balance and rested his head on Elliot's shoulder. They entered the apartment and Elliot eased him onto the sofa.

Elliot sat down on a chair in front of him. He took George's hands in his, rubbing George's palms with his thumbs. George waited a few minutes before speaking.

"Elliot, I hadn't wanted to mention this, but I can't stand bottling it up anymore. Remember how I said that when I was taken, I was here mentally?"

"Yeah?" Elliot prodded. George looked at their hands as he continued.

"When I was there, I dreamed about being with you. When I was awake my thoughts were dark most of the time, but when they weren't, it was because I imagined you protecting and comforting me. It was a big part of why I asked for you the second I was found." He took a shaky breath. Elliot squeezed George's hands, prompting him to continue.

"I also felt guilty because I knew you would be trying to find me, but I thought no one cared. It felt like I was detaching from reality by hoping you would pick up the pieces. It's not that I thought you were a bad person, I just—I caved. I fell apart. I was convinced that nothing good was going to happen ever again, and that thinking otherwise was just foolish. And now I feel guilty for having thought that way."

It was the first time George had mentioned what his thought process had been. Elliot wasn't a psychiatrist, but he recognized this as a crucial moment—George wasn't trying to avoid conversation about his ordeal anymore. Elliot also realized that he had become George's confidant in every sense of the word. George would talk to others at some point but George needed Elliot to hear him first.

The thought provoked a wide variety of emotions. George's need was greater at the moment, however, so he pushed his own thoughts away.

"George, for a month you were trapped with people who were hurting you terribly—of course you felt forsaken and hopeless," Elliot justified.

"Those are good words for what I was feeling," George agreed grimly.

"How did you keep yourself sane?" Elliot asked gently, with a hint of admiration for George's resilience.

"Besides dreaming about you as a knight in shining armor," he laughed humorlessly, "I thought about people I knew and everything I remembered about them. And other things I committed to memory—diseases and their symptoms, profiles I'd made, everything."

"Have you talked to your family at all since this happened?" George shook his head.

"My parents and I are estranged. Remember how I told you that my upbringing was strictly traditional, and my parents don't approve of interracial relationships? Let's just say they're even less tolerant of my attraction to men. They would prefer almost anything to that."

"So you haven't talked to any of them since you came out?" Elliot asked incredulously.

"I do talk to my sister ever few months. But I haven't in a while."

"So none of them even know what happened to you?" Elliot found himself angry on George's behalf.

"No. I don't plan on telling them either," George said firmly.

"They should know," Elliot asserted.

"What am I going to say? 'Hello, Mother and Father! I'm calling you, for the first time in years, because I was kidnapped, drugged, tortured and raped by sadists, and I was held captive for a month before being left for dead. When I was found I was in septic shock, and at the hospital, I flatlined and had to be put on a ventilator. I was in critical condition for five days before regaining consciousness and finding out that a man I love shares my feelings. Also, I'm now showing symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Have you done anything interesting lately?' Yeah, that's a conversation I want to have," George said with a mirthless laugh.

"They need to know that they can't take someone like you for granted anymore," Elliot said softly.

"They think I deserve to be taken for granted," George stated bitterly.

"But you don't deserve it," Elliot insisted. Elliot's anger towards George's situation was starting to make his blood boil. He clenched his teeth, trying to control it.

"I'm still not talking to them about it," George said lowly.

"What about your sister?" Elliot inquired. George's face softened slightly.

"The reason I don't talk to her often is because she's an endocrinologist at a hospital in Chicago. She did accept me a while after I came out—she just doesn't have a lot of time to talk. I don't want to tell her, though. It'll worry her."

"If one of my siblings got hurt in any way I'd want to be worried. I'd rather be afraid than not be there for them," Elliot informed him.

"Maybe," George said reluctantly. Elliot decided to change the subject.

"What went through your head when you were found?" George frowned.

"The memory isn't very clear, but if I remember correctly I woke up on the side of the road. I was so disoriented but I knew I had to get to that road. Moving hurt a lot but the pain wasn't nearly as bad as how hot it felt—it felt like fire. And then this woman came and started doing some first aid. I asked for you—it was all I could think about. I saw your face and wanted to say a lot of things but I don't remember anything after that, except for what I told you the other day." George looked at Elliot inquiringly. Elliot immediately understood the unspoken request to know what had happened.

"You were really out of it and you didn't say much except that you felt sick. Then the shock worsened and you were out. I rode with you in the ambulance and then we got to the hospital."

"No offense, but how did you go from married, with children, to loving me?" George asked suddenly.

"I didn't become attracted to you just like that, but I was always told it was a sin to be attracted to men and when I was with Kathy…"

"You didn't want or need the complication of being with someone else when you had her there."

"Right. But seeing you like that made my feelings more clear." George took a moment to process everything. Elliot stood up and stretched his legs.

"I'm going to make some dinner, ok?" George nodded and Elliot embraced him before walking to the kitchen.

A few minutes later Elliot came back with two bowls of soup. George took his and ate quietly, but he stopped after a few bites.

"Elliot?" George began.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for being here for me. You make me feel safe mentally and physically." Elliot blinked.

"George, I'll always be here. You've always been there for me and you don't need to thank me."

"Yeah I do," George said softly. He grabbed Elliot's bowl and set both bowls down on a coffee table before hugging Elliot. Elliot pulled George closer and rested his chin on George's head. George buried his face in Elliot's chest and began to cry silently. Elliot felt amazed that George had bottled everything up for so long without snapping. Elliot had repressed his emotions, too, he realized, and he finally let go.

Neither of them moved for a while; the catharsis they were silently undergoing was too draining.


	18. Chapter 18

Eventually, Elliot looked at the clock and broke the silence. "We need to get to bed."

They both stood slowly. "Take it easy, doc," Elliot ordered.

"Elliot, I can walk," George insisted.

"I know you can but you got out of breath earlier. You shouldn't strain your lungs," Elliot informed him. Eventually they reached the guest bedroom and Elliot helped George settle in. He made to leave but George grabbed his arm.

"Please don't go," he begged.

"You want me to stay in the bed with you?" Elliot asked, surprised.

"I don't feel like I can be alone," George admitted sadly.

Elliot was shocked by the request. Victims usually shied away from human contact for a long time after an attack. George willingly kissing him had been unexpected, but reaching out to him like this was just short of miraculous. Although, Elliot knew that George wasn't a typical victim. And it was a good sign that George wasn't isolating himself. It would make it easier to reach him whenever he needed help.

"I'll stay with you," Elliot promised. He sat down next to George and placed a hand on his shoulder. He frowned at knot he felt.

"Those are way too tense," he noted. He began to knead at the knot of tension.

"That feels amazing," George gasped.

"Turn over," Elliot suggested. George complied, rolling onto his stomach. Elliot's strong hands worked at the muscles, moving from his shoulders down his back, to his legs and eventually back to his arms.

"Mmm," George hummed contentedly. Elliot smiled at George's reaction. George started breathing deeper, indicating that he was about to fall asleep if he hadn't already.

Elliot stopped and set his head on George's back, listening to George's breathing. He had been worried about George worsening the condition of his lungs. He sounded wheezy, Elliot noticed, but not terrible.

"I would have let you listen to them if you'd asked," George mumbled suddenly.

"I didn't know you were awake," Elliot said sheepishly.

"S'ok," George said sleepily. Elliot laid down next to him and closed his eyes.

Completely drained from the emotional night, Elliot and George found themselves falling asleep quickly.

George blinked as the sunlight hit his face. He felt another person against him and he panicked, scrambling to get away. He fell onto the floor and only then remembered that he was at Elliot's. He gazed at the ceiling for a moment while he caught his breath.

"Doc? You okay?" Elliot called from the bed. He stood up and walked over to George.

"Uh… yeah," George said breathlessly.

"What happened? Did you have a nightmare?" Elliot asked as he pulled George to his feet.

"I did, but it wasn't what caused me to fall. I just became alarmed," George said ashamedly.

"George, anyone would be afraid," Elliot said gently.

"I feel guilty for having been afraid of you," George said.

"Would you tell that to any other victim?" George tensed at the question. Elliot immediately recognized his mistake.

"What I meant was-"

"I know what you meant," George said uncomfortably. He rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke.

"Do you want to go back to bed?" Elliot asked to break the silence.

"Maybe later."

Elliot nodded and they walked towards the kitchen.

"So what was your nightmare about last night?" Elliot asked as he toasted some bread.

"It was actually different from my recurring one. I can't decide whether that's a relief or not because it was still terrible," George said.

"So what was it?"

"It started out like my recurring nightmare, except in the end…" He trailed off and shook his head.

"What is it, George?"

"The dream ended with them killing me," he said shakily. He averted Elliot's sympathetic gaze and grabbed a piece of toast, though he wasn't hungry in the least. He took a bite to stall any further discussion. His stomach started churning but he didn't care. He noticed Elliot was still looking at him.

"What?"

"Are you going to tell Hendricks about your nightmares?"

"I suppose," he said reluctantly.

"Do you want to tell me?" Elliot asked gently.

"I bothered you enough last night," George said.

"You always listen to me when I need it. And there's no way in hell what you said last night wasn't worth me listening to," Elliot stated.

"You're right," George sighed. "I just never told anyone much about me, let alone in one sitting."

"Isn't it about time you let someone in, and let someone take care of you? I'm not going to judge you and I'm not going to lose anything by listening to you. I've said this before and I'll say it again—you're a psychiatrist and you know exactly what you need to do to heal. And you need to start healing before you start worrying about me or anyone else," Elliot informed him.

"Okay," George said. He closed his eyes and Elliot walked to him. Elliot stood behind George and wrapped his arms around the smaller man. George tensed slightly.

"You're on edge," Elliot observed.

"I am," George admitted. "But it's not because of you."

"I know," Elliot assured him. "I know."

George stood and turned around. He looked into Elliot's eyes. They were intense, with a lot of emotion—as always. Elliot was concerned, almost to the point of fear, and he was angry. The kind of anger people get when they want to seek revenge for others. And there was definite affection and love. He hadn't seen the last two emotions directed at him in a long time. His throat tightened at the thought.

"I'm going to protect you," Elliot whispered. He pulled George closer to him. George closed his eyes and gradually relaxed.

"George, when we find them… will you be able to testify?" Elliot asked. George swallowed.

"I think I can. But I'm not sure."

"Okay," Elliot said. He continued to hold George close to him. He knew he was doing a good job comforting George, but he also knew that his anger towards George's attackers was boiling close to the surface.

If he ever got his hands on George's attackers, he realized, it would take Olivia and Fin physically dragging him away to make sure he didn't kill them.

But he pushed the thought away, because George still needed him.


	19. Chapter 19

A few days later, they had their first session with Hendricks. They combined their sessions in order to stay together; there was an unspoken agreement that they needed to be together in the difficult, emotional sessions.

George still had difficulty talking about his ordeal, but he didn't refuse to answer questions anymore. That made things quite a bit easier.

For his part, Elliot finally voiced the thoughts he'd been having since George had been found, especially about the anger he had towards George's attackers.

"I'm really worried that if I'm the one who handles the interrogation, I'm going to lose control and do something that will get me put on desk duty for the rest of my career," Elliot admitted.

"Do you have any way to release the anger? And I don't mean burying your thoughts. Do you have any way you can truly vent?" Rebecca asked.

"I usually go to a gym," Elliot stated.

"Why haven't you been using that outlet?" Rebecca demanded.

"Because…" Elliot trailed off.

"Of me," George finished. He looked at the ground, averting any eye contact.

"It's not like you made me stay with you 24/7, I just never wanted to leave for any amount of time. It's not your fault," Elliot assured him.

"Well, I can handle being alone for an hour or two if you need to work out," George said flatly.

"Okay," Elliot agreed. Rebecca raised her eyebrows.

"So, Elliot, that's settled. But George, to reiterate what Elliot said, you didn't do anything wrong."

"I know, I know," George sighed. He rested his chin on one arm.

"I hate being on this side of the fence," he confessed. "I know it's necessary, I know what would happen without this, but I don't like it."

"No one likes it. Why do you think we have so many patients we treat come in on an involuntary basis? It's because it's bad enough going through a trauma—and then having your thoughts dissected? I'd be surprised if you didn't hate being here. Psychiatrist or no, it's definitely unpleasant," Rebecca stated.

"Yeah," George sighed.

"Elliot, do you remember when you attacked a man who was hurting his kid?" Elliot nodded.

"Of course."

"You sought me out, because you knew you needed some help. But you still didn't like me asking you questions."

"Right," Elliot agreed.

"It's definitely harder to be a patient," Rebecca concluded.

"I agree," George sighed.

"Elliot, I'd like to know what you're feeling right now," Rebecca requested. "You haven't said much, other than worrying about your aggression."

"I'm feeling a lot," Elliot admitted. "I'm worried about George, I'm worried that we won't catch these guys and what might happen if I do get my hands on them, I'm angry at them, and I'm angry at some of George's family."

"Why are you angry at his family?" Rebecca asked.

"Because they haven't spoken to him in years and he doesn't feel like they'll make up, even over this."

"Tell me about that, George," Rebecca suggested.

"Not much to say. They're strictly traditional. They see me being attracted to men as a slap in the face."

"So you don't want to make peace with them?" Rebecca asked.

"I do, but I think now isn't the time," George said.

"Do you have any siblings?" George nodded.

"A sister. Her name is Nora."

"Does she accept you?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to talk to her?"

"Yes and no."

"You should."

"I will soon, I guess," George said reluctantly.

"It will help," Elliot supplied. George sighed and clasped Elliot's hand.

"I know. It's just a little overwhelming."

"I'm going to stop you there for a minute. Elliot, what else are you feeling?" Rebecca asked.

"Not much else. I just really want to get these guys," Elliot stated.

"What else?" Rebecca prodded.

"I just… I feel afraid and protective of George. I feel like the next person to look at George wrong is also someone who's going to try and hurt him, and thus someone I want to attack," Elliot admitted.

"So you're having trust issues of sorts."

"Yes," Elliot answered.

"George, what do you think about that? And are you afraid of being out in public?" Rebecca asked.

"It feels nice to have someone who cares about me and to feel protected. But I don't want Elliot to get into trouble because of me— even if he finds my attackers. And I'm not afraid to be out in public, per se, but I am anxious. But having Elliot there helps. It… it feels like he's a combination of a lover, guide, and bodyguard. I feel safer," George admitted.

"And you feel ready for him? You feel like you can love already?" Rebecca asked. "You work with victims often. You know that most have a difficult time. I'm not saying I doubt you—there are times when this thing brings people together. But I think it's good to define some things."

"I feel about as ready to be with him as I can be." George gave a half-smile. "I know most have a hard time with relationships, and I probably will too. But I think I can do this."

"If you can't, I'll still be here," Elliot chimed in.

"That means a lot. Thank you," George said softly. He laced his fingers with Elliot's.

"George, in general, what problems have you been having since you were found?" Rebecca asked.

"Nightmares—lots of them. And occasional flashbacks," George stated. Elliot blinked. George hadn't mention having had flashbacks. George gave him a look that plainly said that he hadn't intentionally kept anything from him.

"What triggers them?" Rebecca asked.

"Thinking about what happened," George said. He took a deep breath.

"But nothing specific? Sounds, smells, sights?"

"I—yes. This probably sounds odd, but if it gets too quiet it's a trigger."

"Because?"

"Because it was always so quiet right before and right after they… you know." He fiddled with a loose thread on the sofa he and Elliot were sitting on.

"That's a pretty easy trigger to avoid," Rebecca stated. George nodded silently. After a moment, Elliot spoke up.

"I think George and I can do this. But I'm still worried about him."

"I think this will work," George agreed quietly.


	20. Chapter 20

The session ended an hour later. George felt somewhat assuaged, but he also felt tense and despondent. He sighed as he followed Elliot to the car. Elliot turned the radio on and nothing was said on the ride home until Elliot's phone rang.

"Stabler."

"Elliot, it's Olivia. You have to come to a crime scene."

"Okay, but why?"

"There's another victim… Killed by the perps we're after," Olivia said.

Elliot almost froze.

"I'll be there soon," Elliot said quickly.

"You need to hurry. The feds are really getting impatient now that there's another victim."

"Okay, I'll be there." He turned the car and drove towards the location Olivia directed him to.

"Elliot, what is it?" George asked quietly. Elliot shook his head.

"Just something relating to your case," he said simply. After a few minutes they arrived at the crime scene; it was in a park-like area.

"Stay here," Elliot instructed. George leaned into the seat and closed his eyes.

Elliot walked over to Olivia. "Any ID?"

"No," Olivia said, shaking her head. They walked over to the victim's body. Elliot's stomach churned at the sight. The victim had the same injuries George had been found with, but they looked like they had been done over a shorter period of time. To make things worse, the man bore an uncanny resemblance to George.

"They must've got him right after they let George go," Elliot whispered shakily.

"I think so," Olivia said sadly.

"This is definitely a personal thing," Elliot noted.

"Definitely," Olivia agreed. They finished with the crime scene quickly.

George felt restless as he sat in Elliot's car. After a moment, he rolled the window down to get some fresh air.

And then he heard Elliot and Olivia. "Must've got him right after they let George go-" Cold shock came over him. Another victim…

He watched Elliot and Olivia standing over the body and piecing things together. Suddenly, a terrifying thought came over him.

"God…" he whispered. Now that the thought was there, it wouldn't go away.

He could just as easily been the one Elliot and Olivia were examining. He closed his eyes and tried to chase the thought away, but it only intensified to visions that he never wanted to imagine, let alone them actually occurring.

He saw himself, lifeless, being examined by the detectives… his body, being autopsied by Warner… Warner telling Elliot and Olivia what his cause of death had been…

He started shaking, his heart pounding in his chest, sweat breaking over his skin. He had to leave. Now.  
He recognized that he was having a panic attack; his body was in fight or flight mode, but that didn't help anything. He'd heard his patients describing the feeling of panic attacks, but it didn't sound nearly as bad in words as it actually was.

He blinked and noticed his body was on autopilot; he was already running. He didn't get very far before he was gasping for breath, but it still wasn't far enough. He slowed, but refused to stop; he walked as quickly as he could.

Eventually he couldn't continue. His heart was racing, but his mind was racing even faster. Time seemed to be passing in slow motion.

He was gasping for breath, and he felt thoroughly sick to his stomach. He leaned over and vomited, and then he was trembling so violently that he couldn't stand. He sank to his knees, leaning against a tree for support. But it didn't stop there. He couldn't stop the flashbacks that presented themselves.

_He was lying on the ground, groaning from pain. He heard a laugh, coming from far away, but he couldn't even focus. All he could do was force himself to continue to breathe. It was such a struggle. Another cut was made and he groaned as the sensations intensified. His body shook, breathing was practically impossible. And it never eased—it only got worse._

Elliot walked back to the car and saw that the passenger's door was open.

"George?" he called as he looked around. He saw George in the distance, leaning against a tree. He took off running.

George clutched at his chest. If he hadn't seen panic attacks so often before when treating patients, he'd be sure he was having heart failure. His lungs burned, too. He tried desperately to catch his breath, but what little air entered his lungs hissed and caught, causing him to cough.

_He was being forced into a van. He wanted to fight back; the instinct was almost overwhelming, but he had to stop. Fighting back would mean death. He was sure the end result would be the same no matter what._

Elliot came running towards him. "George, what happened?" Elliot asked. He made to embrace the smaller man.

"No, don't do that! I'll suffocate," George said desperately. He coughed loudly.

"What do you mean?" Elliot asked, alarmed.

"Panic attack," he gasped. Elliot noticed how fast George was breathing— just short of hyperventilating.

"You'll make yourself sick. Take deep breaths," Elliot instructed.

"I already did… and I'm trying," George replied. Elliot set one hand on George's shoulder.

"Is this alright?" he asked. George nodded and coughed again.

"What happened, George?" Elliot asked.

"I heard you." George closed his eyes and continued to rub his chest. Elliot grabbed George's quivering arm and pressed down. The pulse was so fast; he could hardly count the individual beats. And George was still breathing too fast.

"George, you're going to pass out if you keep breathing like this. I know you're terrified but you have to calm down," Elliot said. He moved his hand and ran circles on George's back.

Eventually George started to breathe better—enough, at least, so Elliot wasn't afraid he'd pass out.

"Let's get out of here," Elliot suggested. George nodded silently. He tried to stand up but he was still trembling. Elliot helped George stand, and they moved at a snail's pace towards the car. George was only vaguely aware of being told to lie down in the back seat. Elliot drove quickly, looking back at him every so often, but George didn't notice. He was too absorbed in his panicked thoughts.

He could just as easily have been the body Elliot and Olivia were looking at.

The thought terrified him. As miserable as he'd felt ever since he'd been taken, he was sure that he didn't wish that his attackers or the infection had killed him. He had come so close to death: actually, he had technically died, for that moment in the hospital.

So close.

He shivered violently as he thought about his attackers. He wasn't complaining, but the fact remained that they'd killed all the other victims. Why not kill him? Did they have something else planned? He almost moaned from the new wave of fear the thought provoked. What if they tried to kidnap and torture him again? He didn't think he could survive if it happened again, his barriers had been broken, and he couldn't even bear the thought…

But no, Elliot wouldn't let that happen. Ever.

He blinked as he felt Elliot's arms around him. Now time seemed to be passing ridiculously fast. He was carried, and set on the sofa. Elliot knelt in front of him, whispering in his ear and running circles on his back, trying to calm him.

Elliot wouldn't let them attack again, right? He had said no one would hurt him, but it felt closer to a dream than reality. Reality had been the same as pain while love and protection were dreams. Now they were reversed, but he couldn't adjust that easily, even though he'd like nothing better than to forget what had happened or at least move on from it.

"I love you," Elliot whispered.

Love. Safety. He was safe now… so why didn't he feel safe? He felt as afraid as he'd ever been, possibly even more so.

He was too afraid to even formulate words. He vaguely registered that Elliot was asking him questions, but his mouth was impossibly dry, his brain too busy trying to keep him in safe and in one piece. His body was still in a protective stance: his hands were bunched into fists. His body was as convinced of the presence of danger as his mind was. "George, just tell me what you're thinking," Elliot begged. He shook his head. Elliot disappeared before coming back with a glass of water that he handed to George. His hand was shaking too much for that.

Elliot held his arm steady and he took a tiny sip. His swollen throat protested, but he continued drinking slowly. The water cut through his panic slightly- just enough to let his thoughts become words.

"I could have been that body," he whispered. His voice was laced with fear and agitation.

"But you aren't. You're safe," Elliot replied.

"I've never panicked like this before, even when I was there… and how can you be sure they aren't going to come back?"

"Because you're with me now," Elliot said. He walked to his closet and grabbed a blanket. He set it on top of him gently, and then he wrapped his arms around George.

As afraid as George still felt, he couldn't deny that Elliot's arms felt good. Elliot continued whispering reassurances in his ear and the panic gradually subsided to anxiety, the best he could hope for at that moment. Even with all his fears, Elliot felt safe to him.


	21. Chapter 21

George was thoroughly exhausted by the next afternoon. His body was begging him to sleep, his body was aching and his lungs burned, but his mind was so awake. The fear made him as alert as if he'd jumped into a freezing river.

Elliot was also feeling drained. No amount of coaxing could have calmed George down enough to sleep, so he had stayed with him, stroking his hair and embracing him, and occasionally feeling his heartbeat, which at times was almost as fast as a racehorse sprinting down the stretch.

He had never seen George so afraid. He felt terrible for having been even partially responsible for the panic attack, but then again, he and Olivia couldn't have known that George would hear them.

Elliot sighed and started drinking another coffee. George sat on the sofa across from him. He was sipping tea to help his cough, which had gotten worse because of how he had run the day before. The tea was decaffeinated so that he wouldn't increase his anxiety.

"George?" Elliot called softly.

"Mm-hmm." It was the closest George had come to speaking in hours.

"George, listen," Elliot said forcefully. George didn't look up, but he nodded his acceptance.

"No one is going to hurt you. I'm going to make sure of that."

George didn't respond. He just took another sip of his drink.

"Will you just talk to me? You were opening up before." Elliot was growing more concerned.

"I was opening up, but now I just don't know what to say," George stated. His voice was hoarse and he winced upon hearing it. He took a gulp of tea, hoping it would moisten his throat.

"You had a flashback…" Elliot prompted. George closed his eyes for a moment, readying himself.

"I did. I saw myself being tortured, and… I think they might try something again," George admitted.

"George…" Elliot began. George shook his head again and looked at the ground.

"I couldn't do it if they succeeded in finding me again. I couldn't do what I did the first time, or I'd go insane. And from what I've seen with my patients, insanity is worse than death..."

"What did you do when you were there for the ONLY time?" Elliot asked, stressing the word to get his point across.

"The first time, I tried to convince myself it was all a nightmare. I tried so hard. I made it that much worse by detaching like that—God, I was so stupid." George's voice grew higher in pitch as he mocked himself. "'It's just a nightmare, I'll wake up and I'll be tangled in my sheets but fine!'" A hysterical laugh escaped him. Elliot had never heard such a desperate, defeated sound. "Then I gave up and started dreaming about being rescued," George added bitterly.

"George, what you did is probably the reason you didn't go insane. It was a hopeless situation: the only hope you could've had was hope you invented; either it wasn't real or that someone would rescue you and make it better," Elliot argued.

"Would you have done the same thing?" George queried. "You're in this one room, you can't even move, let alone escape, you know every psychological problem they're suffering from and how each one makes it less likely you'll survive, you're so sure you're living on borrowed time, and they're torturing you every step of the way. What would you do?"

"The same thing you did," Elliot assured him. "And stop turning your anger in on yourself."

"What makes you think I'm doing that?" George asked, his voice dripping with fake curiosity. Elliot pretended not to hear him.

"I don't know how you forgot everything you know about psychology, doc, but you need a refresher course. You're a victim. You did everything by the book. It's amazing that you're alive, let alone sane. You should be angry at lots of people but you are not one of the people you should be angry at—if anything, you should be proud of yourself for being resilient enough to survive. So just stop it. Those guys will rot in prison, and I will personally make sure they don't get out of the interrogation room without a bruise. You know WHY, George?" he asked loudly.

"Mm-hmm."

"Because taking a man like you and breaking you down like they did? That pisses me off. And remember that infamous temper of mine? Yeah, it didn't calm any while you were gone. And let's just say I haven't been able to use my doctor-ordered outlet yet," Elliot snarled.

"All of that is assuming you A. find them and B. get to be the detective in charge of the interrogation," George said flatly.

"Believe me, both are going to happen," Elliot promised.

"And then what." It was more a statement than a question.

"They go to jail and you start to feel safe again. That will help your recovery."

"I suppose," George said dispassionately.

"George, why are you doing this?" Elliot demanded.

"I don't know, okay?" George replied. His voice was laced with agitation.

"I love you. I don't want to see you abuse yourself mentally. You're too good for that," Elliot whispered.

"It's so hard," George admitted. He analyzed his thoughts as he spoke. "I've never thought like this before. I guess it makes sense to be afraid of being hurt again. The guilt, anger, and resentment I have for myself are unhealthy but not uncommon. Although, it isn't self-hatred as much as disdain for how I acted when I was there. I'm fine with myself at the moment, but I don't really understand why I wasted time fantasizing about someone coming to help me. I should have been trying to escape. I don't know how that would have worked, though. It's just…" He paused, trying to find words.

"Despite everything I know about victims, I still feel like I did something wrong. Which isn't too surprising, I suppose, I know from a psychological standpoint that it's my minds way of trying to return some feeling of control to me, because my attackers took any power I may have had, but…"

"George, listen to me: you didn't do anything wrong." George closed his eyes and nodded before voicing his thoughts.

"Elliot, there's a reason they didn't do to me what they did to the others. I was close to death, but they were smart enough to know that if I was found, I had at least a 50-50 chance of survival. They made it certain for the others, making sure they died before they left them somewhere.

They mentioned, before they d… drugged me and moved me out, that they had to be careful not to get sick. My fever was probably extreme by then, especially considering how disoriented I was. So I could see them being cautious—but not like that. And not that I'm complaining, but if I was any of the other victims they would have…" Tears formed in his eyes at the thought, which made him cough harshly before he was able to finish speaking.

"They would have killed me before they left. I don't know why they slipped out of their MO so suddenly. If I was anyone else, they would have tried to make me suffer even more than I already had. Again, I'm not complaining about it, but it's odd."

Elliot held his breath for a moment. He knew he would have to tell George eventually, but he had wanted to wait until he was up to hearing it. Now, though, it seemed he didn't have a choice. "The replacement profiler they sent in thinks it was a personal thing, if it is your old patient. He said the patient's sadism would have combined with a desire for revenge," Elliot informed him.

"Oh. That, uh changes a lot…" George trailed off awkwardly. Elliot knew he was thinking about the fact that he hadn't considered it as a possibility. Mostly because it caused, for at least a few minutes, whoever it was to feel like they had bloody hands- the last thing he needed was to add to his guilt.

"George, it'll be okay," Elliot tried to assure him. George shook his head but remained silent.

"It will eventually," Elliot insisted. George sighed and stood up slowly. He walked over to Elliot's chair and leaned down to embrace him. Elliot stood up and hugged George tightly before walking him over to the sofa and putting the blanket back over him.

George gradually calmed down, enough so that Elliot wasn't afraid for him anymore. The tension that had been almost tangible soon numbed down to mild worry and anxiety.

A while later, Elliot's phone rang. Elliot gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to throw it against the wall. He tossed George an apologetic look and walked out of the room. Elliot sighed as he answered the phone. "Yeah?"

"Elliot, its Olivia. Warner's finished her autopsy of the victim."

"And?"

"Cause of death was dehydration and the attack fit the previous MO's perfectly… except for one detail."

"Which is?" Elliot pressed.

"Elliot, Warner found DNA on the victim. And we got a hit. The DNA's in the system."


	22. Chapter 22

"What? Who does it belong to?" Elliot asked quickly.

"Eric Keyes," Olivia stated.

"Well, let's get a warrant and a search going for Keyes," Elliot suggested. He trailed off for a moment.

"Do you think we should tell George that we have a lead?"

"I don't know. What happened yesterday?" Olivia asked.

"He had a hell of a panic attack when he found out there was another victim."

"George? Really?" Olivia asked incredulously.

"Yes. He didn't sleep the whole night, he was trembling, everything," Elliot sighed.

"Did he talk to Hendricks about it?"

"Funny thing, we were just coming back from an appointment when your call came," Elliot informed her.

"Oh," Olivia said with a hint of shame. "Is he okay now, though?"

"More or less. He's really rattled but calming down. And he's opening up now," Elliot stated.

"That's something, at least," Olivia supplied.

"Yeah. So, I'll be there soon. "

Elliot ended the phone call and walked back in. George was still lying down, looking thoroughly exhausted but with no intention of sleeping, for as long as he could avoid it.

"Doc, I need to work on your case. Do you have anything you can do here?" Elliot asked.

"Yeah, I'll take a shower or something," George said.

"Okay. Be careful," Elliot instructed. He kissed him gently, relieved to find George relaxing at the contact. He broke away after a moment and left.

George stood up gingerly and walked towards Elliot's bathroom. He felt decent, physically, except for some soreness and an excessive fatigue that plagued him no matter how much or how little he slept. However, he knew that it was an after-effect of the overwhelming infection, and it would take time for it to go away.

One of the many consequences of what had happened, George mused as he stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. He stripped down and stepped into the shower. The hot water felt soothing on his body and he sighed deeply as he reflected.

He hadn't expected to survive his ordeal: he hadn't been given a single reason to think otherwise. But the fact was still there: he hadn't expected there to be a fall-out to deal with- at least, one that HE would deal with- but suddenly, there it was.

One good thing, at least, had come about from this. Elliot was his lover and protector now. Somehow, he didn't object to the idea of having to be protected like he would have two months ago. Maybe it was his defenses having been worn down; he was so vulnerable, he needed someone there while he regained some equilibrium. The idea of being protected, taken care of… it sounded ideal now.

But for that one good thing, there were a dozen awful things that had happened. He winced slightly as he touched a spot on his stomach that was forming a scar. The emotional scars would be much worse. But emotional scars could fade over time. It would just take work- if he opened up, kept the walls to a minimum like he'd been trying to, there was a good chance that he'd be able to function again soon. And within a few years, he might regain a semblance of his former self.

Some things would take even longer to return to normal, if they did at all- he had enjoyed sex before, but now… he wasn't sure if he ever wanted it again. He knew it was possible for rape victims to be able to have sex again, but he wasn't going to fool himself- it would take a long time, it would be a difficult process, and there were much more pressing issues that would have to be dealt with first. For now, the mere thought of sex terrified and disgusted him, and he would have to accept it for a while.

He didn't want to tell his family about the pain and humiliation he'd endured. His parent's rejection still stung. He didn't want to open himself up to them this soon. He knew they wouldn't do anything terrible, like suggesting that he was lying or he deserved it, but he didn't feel up to talking with them; repairing their relationship would take energy he didn't have. He would reach out eventually- after all, his parents weren't heartless. They were just traditional. As a young adult, he'd realized with a stab of sadness that he would be the same way if he'd grown up in their time.

Nora gave him a different reason to keep quiet than the rest of his family. George's worry about talking to her came from the fact that Nora was kind and innocent. She was truly horrified at the idea of what he worked with on a daily basis, and knowing he was a victim of that same violence would tear her apart. He didn't want to cause his sister any harm, even emotional. But she had to know.

George sighed as he idly scrubbed at his body. Despite the fact that he was looking better, gaining weight and color steadily- his skin was gradually returning to its normal olive tone, instead of the sickly, pallid look- he also still had many very visible reminders of what had happened. He dreaded seeing the look on Nora's face when she saw them.

The ones who had attacked him had found the perfect torture, he thought sadly. Lots of pain with little blood loss, limiting the possibility for death until they wanted it to happen, but the same amount of scarring as if they'd cut indiscriminately. Combined with everything else… Elliot was right, it was a miracle he was still sane. And he was thankful for that.

George finished washing and stepped out of the shower. He walked over to the sink and shaved before dressing again and walking to the bedroom. He opened the window and climbed out to sit on the fire escape. He coughed as his lungs loosened; a delayed effect of the shower steam. It felt good, though, to feel his lungs clear. He took deliberately deep breaths, letting his lungs fill almost to the point of pain.

He felt calmer than he had in a long time. Part of it was because of his own introspection- he had always enjoyed being left to his thoughts. Usually in a quiet spot, but that triggered flashbacks as of late, so he simply preferred meaningless background noise.

George thought about the new sense of calm. It wasn't apathy or numbness, but the turmoil had temporarily dulled to an emotion that was a definite contrast to the instinctive panic he'd felt almost constantly the last 24 hours. He couldn't quite label the feeling, however.

Things just felt clear. He knew Elliot would be his rock, while at the same time, Elliot wouldn't take the transition well and he would need a rock of his own. George also knew, as much as the thought pained him, that he was a long way away from being able to be a rock for anyone. Hopefully Elliot would be okay until George reached that point.

He knew that the nightmares and flashbacks and anxiety would get almost unbearable before they gradually got better, though they would become manageable eventually.

George spent a moment wondering what his attackers were doing. He shivered at the thought- it wasn't something he wanted to dwell on.

He made himself think about what steps he would take next. He decided that he would wait for Elliot to return, and then he would ask Elliot to sit with him while he called Nora. He'd tell her as little as possible over the phone- this was something to say in person- but he'd tell her enough to convince her to come to New York so he could talk to her.

George didn't want to burden Nora, but Elliot was right. She didn't deserve to be shut out. It would crush her, but she would find out eventually regardless, and not hearing from him right away would add more hurt to her feelings.

He tilted his head back slightly and closed his eyes. He could tell that this was an 'eye of the storm', not a true breakthrough, but it still made his thoughts feel simple. He'd barely been able to understand his own thoughts, so it was a definite relief. He knew things would get bad again, and he dreaded it, but for now he was in a rare moment of contentedness.


	23. Chapter 23

Alex Cabot walked into the squad room. "I have a warrant for Eric Keyes's arrest right here," she stated.

"That's part one, but where is he?" Elliot asked.

"We have to ask his sister," Olivia stated. She started walking out of the squad room. Elliot followed after her.

Elliot and Olivia walked to Sheryl's door. Elliot began to knock and Sheryl answered almost immediately.

"Detective, how can I help you?" she asked.

"When was the last time you spoke to Eric?" Elliot questioned.

"Haven't seen him in years," Sheryl stated dryly as she opened the door wider to let Olivia and Elliot in.

"Do you know where he lives?" Olivia pressed.

"No idea," she said. She looked slightly distressed.

"Is there any spot Eric was especially fond of?"

"There was a forest he liked to go to ever since we were young."

"Where was it?" Elliot asked.

"A few hours upstate," she stated. "Did he do something there?" Olivia looked at Elliot for a moment before answering.

"He's a suspect in a string of serial rapes and murders."

"Oh god," Sheryl whispered. She looked horrified at the thought. "How could my brother do something so terrible?"

"Bad apples come from anywhere and everywhere," Elliot responded grimly.

"I guess so… I'll let you know if I find him or anything…" Sheryl looked crushed.

"Bye. And thanks," Elliot said gently.

They left again. Elliot called Cragen and informed him about their lead.

"Captain, she told us about a location a few hours away from here that he might have his group at."

"Go after them tomorrow," Cragen instructed.

"But why, captain?" Elliot asked.

"Because I want there to be as many people as possible in on this and I want them to be prepared."

"But he could catch on to us!"

"Those are my orders," Cragen said shortly. Elliot relayed the instructions to Olivia. Olivia reluctantly drove Elliot home before driving to the precinct.

Elliot was excited and anxious about the new lead. He decided to tell George a little about it and see if it sounded familiar to him. He walked to the bedroom and found George sitting outside on the fire escape. He didn't look depressed, but he did look like he had a lot on his mind.

"Doc?" Elliot called. George looked up at him.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Want to come inside?" Elliot asked gently.

"Not really," George said with a shrug. Elliot stepped outside and sat next to him.

"How long have you been out here and what have you been thinking about?"

"A couple of minutes since you left. And I've been thinking about everything. I kind of had a moment of clarity," George replied. Elliot didn't ask for more details, deciding to wait for George to tell him.

"I decided that I do want to call Nora after all," George said suddenly.

"That's good. When do you want to do that?"

"Um, now would be nice," George said, almost shyly. "Better to do this sooner, rather than later."

"C'mon, then," Elliot said. He kissed George gently and pulled him to his feet. They walked slowly to the living room and Elliot handed the phone to George. They sat down on the sofa and Elliot held George's free hand while George dialed. The phone rang three times. George was about to give up when the phone was answered.

"George?" Nora greeted.

He took a deep breath before speaking. "Hi, Nora."

"George, what's wrong?" Nora asked, having caught the tone in his voice.

"I need you to come to New York," George deadpanned.

"Okay, but why?"

"I was…hurt," George said delicately.

"Did another prison inmate attack you?" Nora asked suspiciously. George almost smiled at the thought of the days they'd spent together after he'd been attacked by prison inmate Matthew Brodus, but the tiny smile faded as he prepared to tell her.

"No," George answered simply.

"Then what happened?" Nora demanded. George took another deep breath. He didn't want to say much over the phone, but he had no choice.

"I was- Nora, I was raped," he whispered shakily. He didn't like the way the words sounded. Nora was silent for a moment before responding.

"I'll be on the next flight over. Where are you staying at?" Nora asked quickly. George gave her Elliot's address.

"I'll be there tomorrow," Nora repeated.

"Thank you, Nora," George said quietly.

"No problem," Nora stated. They hung up and George turned to Elliot.

"It could have gone worse," George sighed. He looked around the room. "What were you doing the last few hours?" George asked to change the subject.

"We have a lead," Elliot replied.

"Oh?"

"Keyes's sister. She said he liked this one cabin they used to go to. It's a few hours north of here. We're going to go after him tomorrow." George gave a tiny shiver.

"It'll be fine," Elliot said, more to assure himself than George. George nodded anyway and set his head on Elliot's shoulder.

Elliot yawned as he made a pot of coffee. Nora would be arriving at the apartment at any minute, and he wanted to be awake.

George walked up to him. "Hey."

"Hey." Elliot yawned again.

"You're going to stay, right?" George asked nervously.

"Of course," Elliot affirmed.

"Good." George looked relieved.

"I'm glad you decided to see her," Elliot said softly. George nodded.

"She's definitely safe to talk to. I just don't want to alarm her."

"Yeah," Elliot agreed. Just then a knock came from the door. George walked over and answered.

"Hey, Nora," he greeted softly. He opened the door wider to let her in.

"George, how are you?" she asked worriedly. She hugged him gently. George closed his eyes and returned the embrace.

"I'm okay, I guess," George replied. He gestured for her to sit down. She sat on the chair across from them, while George and Elliot sat on the sofa. George couldn't stop himself from holding Elliot's hand.

Elliot and Nora introduced themselves to each other. There was a long silence before Nora hesitantly spoke. "What happened?" Nora asked gently. George took a deep breath.

"I was leaving a subway station, when I was abducted by several sadists. They drugged me and brought me to a cabin or something similar, and they raped and tortured me for a month." It amazed him how his voice sounded so emotionless, despite the emotions he actually felt. Nora's eyes widened.

"How-when did you escape?" she stammered.

"They cut me, and I presume one of the cuts got infected, because I became septic. They were smart enough to know that they didn't want to take any chances. They drugged me again and left me on the side of a road."

"You were septic?" Nora asked for affirmation.

"Yes."

Being a doctor, Nora knew that he had to have come close to death. "How close…" She trailed off, not wanting to say her little brother's name and the word "death" in the same sentence. George understood what she meant, regardless.

"I flatlined once. I had to be put on a ventilator and I was unconscious for five days," George said flatly.

"How are you now- physically?" Nora asked shakily.

"All right, I suppose. A few lingering effects- fatigue and so on."

"Scars?" Nora asked in an almost timid voice.

George was unable to meet her gaze. He couldn't help but feel remorseful for telling her and causing so many negative emotions. "Yes. Mostly on my chest and stomach, but there's a lot on my arms and legs." He sighed and looked at the ground.

"How are you mentally?" she asked morosely.

"That's a little more complicated," George admitted.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," Nora whispered. "Do our parents know?"

"Only you and the people handling my case know," George admitted.

"George-" Nora began, shaking her head.

"I do want to talk to them, eventually. But not now; I can't deal with yet. I don't want to deal with the fighting that would inevitably happen before we reconcile," George interjected.

"They do love you," Nora asserted. "They do, they're just traditional."

"I know- I really do. But I don't want to talk about this, if you don't mind," George requested. He was beginning to feel agitated, and he didn't want Nora to have to deal with that as well.

"What do you want to talk about, then?" Nora asked gently.

"I haven't heard about you in a while," George stated. Nora hesitated for a moment, but after seeing the expression on George's face, changed the subject.

Elliot noticed that George seemed slightly more relaxed. That, in turn, made Elliot feel relaxed.


	24. Chapter 24

Nora had to leave after only a few hours; she hadn't been able to get enough time off to have a long visit. However, she promised that she would come back as soon as she could get time off.

Elliot and George had just sat down after escorting Nora outside when Elliot got a call that they were going to search for Keyes. He embraced George gently.

"I have to go," he informed the smaller man.

"Alright, then," George agreed. He returned the embrace. Elliot rubbed his back and kissed his forehead.

With a nervous and edgy voice, George whispered, "Don't kill them, okay?"

Elliot smiled wryly. "Don't worry. I think I'd rather just hit them and then see them go through prison."

George swallowed visibly and looked away.

"What's wrong?" Elliot asked worriedly.

"Just… I think they're going to get the death penalty, and I don't approve of it," George admitted. Elliot looked at him incredulously.

"Not even after what they did to you and the others?"

"No," George said firmly. He bit his lip. "It goes against what I believe in, as a doctor and as a human being. I don't feel anyone has the right to decide that they should die."

Elliot was astonished that after all he'd been through, George still had the ability to be compassionate for anyone—let alone his attackers. He wondered briefly about the possibility of Stockholm syndrome, but that didn't quite fit—George didn't like his attackers at all, he wasn't attached to them, and he didn't want to see them ever again. George was just a kinder, better person than they were- he was kinder than almost everyone Elliot knew, really. Even before he'd been taken, George's limitless compassion had amazed him, but now it felt even more astonishing.

It made Elliot feel guilty, too- guilty that he'd failed George by not being there when George needed him, guilty that he hadn't been able to protect him, and guilty that George was the one who was hurt and yet Elliot was the one who was desperate for revenge.

"Sorry," Elliot said softly. George nodded his acceptance, though he clearly didn't know what Elliot was being forgiven for. Elliot pulled George closer with a sigh.

"George, I'm sorry I couldn't protect you," Elliot whispered. George gave him an incredulous look.

"None of you could have stopped it," he stated. Elliot shook his head in protest.

"No, I should've-"

"Should've what, Elliot? Should've predicted the future and not let me leave? Acted as my bodyguard? You had no idea of knowing. I'm the only one at fault here."

Elliot blinked in shock. "I thought you were done blaming yourself. How and why do you think this is your fault? If I'm not at fault, you aren't either."

"I didn't fight back-" George began.

"Because they had a gun against your head, obviously!" Elliot argued indignantly.

"I didn't try to escape-"

"Again, George, they had a GUN. As in, a weapon that could kill you. Of course you should have stayed put!" Elliot interrupted.

"They would've done it anyway—it was pretty much inevitable. The only reason they didn't do it is that I didn't think to try to stop my cuts from getting infected," George retorted.

"Now that's your fault too? What were you going to do, make an antibiotic appear out of thin air?"

"I should-"

"GEORGE! Listen to yourself!" Elliot ordered vehemently. George startled and recoiled slightly at Elliot's raised voice. "Why do you refuse to believe that you aren't to blame? Are you trying to find a reason to hate yourself?"

George looked away. "Quite frankly… that's not too far from the truth."

Elliot's eyes widened. His voice softened, but wavered slightly as he spoke. "You were doing better when you talked to Nora. What happened?"

"This is going to be the most stupid, ridiculous, angst-filled whining you've ever heard," George warned.

Elliot shook his head. "No it won't. 'Angst' isn't the same as your PTSD."

George tensed in anticipation of Elliot's reaction to his words. "I don't know why- I tried to talk myself out of it and convince myself that I'm wrong- but no matter what, I feel like I deserve this, somehow."

"How the hell could you believe you deserve that? I can't think of anyone LESS deserving of that shit than you! You don't deserve any part of what happened to you!"

"But that's the problem! I've tried to tell myself that. How do you think it feels, being a psychiatrist and having learned about how dangerous those feelings are, but being unable to stop them? I shouldn't feel it at all, but I can't convince myself that I didn't have it coming! I can't stop thinking that I brought it on myself… I don't even have a rationale for it. I don't have a reason for why I deserve it- I just do."

"No you don't!" Elliot exclaimed heatedly. His throat constricted. "I don't know what it feels like to have all this training that gets cast aside from trauma like what you went through- it must be awful, though. But what you learned is still true- you can't convince yourself that what they did was okay. It wasn't."

George closed his eyes. "I'm trying… god, I hate myself right now," he admitted.

The words stung. Elliot pulled him in, not caring that his hands were probably uncomfortably tight. He squeezed George's shoulders, desperate to communicate how much he loved George.

"George, you have no idea how much I wish I could make you see that you're wrong," Elliot whispered. "I never told anyone growing up that I was bisexual, but I knew, and I tried to fight that. Then I fell in love with you and tried to fight that too, until I saw you hurt. I know now just how much I love you, and it hurts seeing you go through so much pain. I love you… I don't want you do more damage to yourself mentally. You've been through enough already, without you beating yourself up."

"I'm trying," George said again. Elliot set one hand on George's cheek and George leaned into the touch. "I hoped they wouldn't be found. I'm not ready to testify. Not yet, at least," George confessed suddenly.

"I'll be there for you. During the line-up, whenever you're waiting to be called to the witness stand, while others are testifying- you won't be alone during any more of the trial than what's absolutely necessary," Elliot promised.

"I just never thought I'd have to deal with it on this side of things, you know? I thought I'd only ever testify as an expert witness, maybe as an outcry witness once or twice. But never as a victim... I'm not sure how well I'll cope."

Elliot gently pressed his lips to George's. George sighed at the comforting, feathery touch. Elliot pulled away after a moment and stroked George's hair. "I love you. We'll get through this," he whispered.

"I love you too," George replied softly. A long moment passed before Elliot pulled away and reluctantly started walking towards the door.

"See you soon, doc. Be careful," Elliot sighed.

"You too, Elliot," George whispered. Elliot slowly walked outside, where Olivia was waiting for him.

The drive was mostly quiet, though in a reflective rather than awkward way. Eventually they arrived at the entrance to the national park that matched the description.

"NYPD, we need to know where all cabins and similar structures are," Olivia told an employee. He nodded and handed her a map.

"We'll have to have the units split up," Elliot observed. "There's too many here." Olivia nodded and relayed the order to the uniforms.

His heart pounded as he and Olivia drove to the first cabin. They burst in, but found nothing. Then the second cabin, the third one- he began to lose hope by the fifth, but his heart still pounded each time.

He lost count of how many cabins they searched. With a sigh, he and Olivia opened up another cabin.

"Hello there, detectives," a man's voice purred. "I'm so glad you're here, I was getting bored."

Elliot barely managed to keep his composure. "Eric Keyes?" He asked. The man nodded silently.

Elliot stepped forward and handcuffed him. "Eric Keyes, you're under arrest for assault, rape, and murder. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…"


	25. Chapter 25

Keyes gave a bored sigh as he was brought into the interrogation room. "I don't want to waste time here. I waive my right to counsel, and I confess to the murders, rapes, and so on," Keyes said simply. "As for the DNA, I left it on the last guy- I forgot his name- to force your hand. You cops are awfully slow when it comes to tracking people- I'm not sure you ever would have found me otherwise," Eric whined.

Elliot didn't bother hiding his disgust and hatred towards him. "Why exactly did you torture, rape and kill all those men, and why did you try to kill George?" Elliot hissed.

"The others, I didn't really have a reason for. But Huang… he pissed me off. I hate shrinks."

Elliot snarled. "So you torture him and almost kill him? That's your idea of what should happen to him for trying to help your sorry ass?" Keyes shrugged nonchalantly.

"Where are the others?" Elliot asked lowly.

"What's in it for me if I tell you?" Keyes retorted.

Someone knocked on the window of the interrogation room. Elliot walked out.

"Just to make our case even more bulletproof, we should have George come down here and identify him. If he makes a positive ID, I'll make a deal with Keyes. Leave him alone for now," Alex said. Elliot nodded and pulled out his phone as he walked to the bunks.

George sighed when he heard his cell phone ring. "Yeah?" he answered.

"George, we found him. We just need you to come down and pick him out of a line up."

"Really?" he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Yeah," Elliot said, even though a reply was superfluous. "I'll be there to pick you up soon."

George sighed and started to get ready. He didn't want to wear anything as informal as a t-shirt, but he didn't feel up to a suit either. Finally he decided on a pair of slacks and a sweater. He walked over to the door of the apartment and waited for Elliot.

He shifted restlessly. He didn't want to see any of his attacker's faces again, under any circumstances- including identifying them in a line-up. He didn't even want to see them if it was at their sentencing. But he knew he'd have to.

Elliot started to open the door. George rushed out. "Let's just get this over with."

"Wait a second, doc," Elliot said. He set his hands on George's shoulders. "Are you alright? Do you feel ready to do this?"

"No. But there's nothing I can do," George said with a resigned sigh.

Elliot wrapped an arm around George's waist. "They'll be in jail soon, George. And then you can start to heal. It'll be fine."

"Yeah. I guess," George said with a forced, strained smile.

They walked over and sat in Elliot's car. Elliot turned the heater on and set a hand on George's knee. George flinched, but tried to cover it up. Elliot didn't comment on it, not wanting to embarrass George.

"So what do you want to do after the line-up?" Elliot asked to distract them both.

"I don't know. Maybe we could go on a long drive or something," George said. Elliot could tell that George was trying not to feel anxious.

"George, you obviously know from experience that he won't be able to attack you, but just keep reminding yourself of that, anyway. And if you have a panic attack, I can bring you back home before anyone notices. Even if they do notice, it's not like they'll think anything less of you. They probably expect it, actually, considering all you've been through."

"I know. I just can't stop the fear. He…" George trailed off. Elliot squeezed his knee gently.

Elliot parked and they got out of the car. George shivered as they walked into the squad room. It didn't feel the same- it felt ominous and foreboding now. He was definitely on the wrong side of the fence. He would normally walk either to his office or to the corkboard to explain something to the detectives.

He glanced at the board and winced as he caught a glimpse of the pictures of his injuries. He hadn't realized how grotesque his injuries had been. He knew they'd been awful, and the injuries had hurt enough to make him believe it, but he didn't expect them to look that ugly. There were dark, swollen bruises, large- albeit shallow- lacerations, and countless other cringe inducing wounds.

Elliot followed his gaze to the pictures and let out an almost inaudible "ah." He walked over to the board and took the pictures down, glaring at a group of rookie cops who were almost certainly responsible for the blunder. He walked back to George as soon as the cops saw him and mumbled some words George couldn't hear.

He then gave George a look of utmost concern. George was still amazed that Elliot could be so angry at everyone else one minute, but worried, protective and affectionate to him the next. It felt nice, though.

"It's fine, Elliot," George insisted quietly.

"Still, you shouldn't have to see your own injuries. No one should," Elliot pointed out.

"I guess," George sighed. "But it's not like I'm the first person who's seen their own injuries, anyway."

"Still, I don't like it," Elliot said. He started walking. George followed Elliot to the line-up.

"Are you ready?" Alex asked. George nodded. Elliot offered his hand and he grasped it gratefully. He was trying not to show his anxiety, but he had a suspicion that he was being obvious. It was difficult to conceal the shivers that were going through his frame and his trembling hands.

A man walked forward and uttered some words that had been said to George when he'd been taken. He knew he didn't know the first two- their looks and voices were different. He recognized the third one immediately, however. He tensed as he remembered the painful events.

_His heart hammered as he was forced into the van. Pain and fear tore through him. He wished he had been given some warning; he wished he could fight back-_

"George!" Elliot called. He shook George's shoulder insistently. George jolted and tried to shake off the flashback. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yes, I think so… But that's him," he whispered shakily. His heart pounded and beads of cold sweat appeared on his skin.

"You're sure?" Alex pressed.

"Yes." He gulped and turned away to steady himself. Alex and Elliot shared a triumphant look.

"We got him. Get him to turn in his group," Alex instructed. She walked away, leaving Elliot and George alone in the room.

"You okay?" Elliot asked George. He didn't like how shaky and fearful George looked.

"I think so. I'm just... edgy." He closed his eyes and leaned against Elliot. He was still trembling. Elliot noted this and rubbed his back until he felt calmer.

"I still have to finish up here. If you want, you could get some rest here, or I could call a cab to take you home, if you want to get out of here now," Elliot offered once he felt George relax.

"I think I'll get some sleep here," George said softly. Elliot walked with him to the bunks.

"I'll try to hurry. When we're done, do you want to get something to eat?" Elliot asked.

"Maybe. Right now, I feel nauseated because of the flashback. It was… pretty upsetting," he admitted. He laid down and took a deep breath.

"Well, you're done for now. I love you," Elliot said gently.

"Love you too," George replied. Elliot kissed his forehead before walking to the interrogation room.


	26. Chapter 26

"Our ADA will take the death penalty off the table if you turn in your group members," Elliot informed Keyes. Eric smirked.

"I have one other condition."

"Which is?" Elliot asked cautiously.

"I want to see the good doctor again." Elliot almost couldn't believe his ears. This pathetic excuse for a human had hurt George for no reason- he had hurt him so much already, and he still wanted more. Elliot's protectiveness of George was immediately triggered and he bunched his hands into fists.

"Well, that's too bad, because I'm not in a bargaining mood," Elliot snarled. Eric shrugged.

"Suit yourself. But keep this in mind; that means you'll never catch them, and they'll continue to rape and murder as many people as they can find. They may even take another turn with the good doctor himself. George was our favorite, did you know that? He was the reason we went after all those men, and they were all amusing… but none of them were quite as fun as he was. He tried to psychoanalyze himself and us, even when we caused him so much pain," Eric said, laughing.

"Shut up," Elliot hissed. His veins started bulging. Given his experience, he shouldn't have been surprised, but he was anyway. He realized that it wasn't as much the fact that he had killed and was bragging about it, as much as the fact that he had hurt George.

The thought of what George had gone through was almost worse, because there was a face to go with it now. This was the prick who had hurt his George, who'd mutilated, torture, and raped him, made him want to die… ruined his life. This was the face George had seen as it all had unfolded. And the thought of HIS George, being tortured by this freak- it was too much.

"I wonder, how is he coping? His resilience shocked me; most begged to die after a few days. If it wasn't for that little case of the sniffles, I would have waited until he broke and begged for it. I would have liked to have made him as insane as the people he once treated, but I suppose you can't always get what you want," Eric added a dramatic sigh.

"You did too much shit to him already. You nearly killed him. He was septic and his fever was so high they almost had to put him in ice. He was this close to dying." Elliot set his thumb and forefinger barely a centimeter apart to demonstrate his point.

"After what we did, I bet he was probably wishing to," Eric noted with a twisted grin.

"He was unconscious, so he didn't have a lot of time for that," Elliot corrected him.

"Afterwords, however… His therapy sessions must have been grueling. Did they make him cry as much as I made him cry? Did he ever have to be medicated, like I had to?" Eric asked.

"Shut. Up!" Elliot snapped. He set his face inches from Eric's, his breath coming in angry pants.

"Awww, did you cry too?" Eric mocked. "I know how hard it is to cope with fallen angels. The good doctor was- maybe is- about as innocent as they come, except for the damn shrink thing, but even though I didn't get as far as I would have liked, I assume I did a good job in breaking him. I can't wait to see my work."

Keyes was really pushing it. "Listen to me, you prick, you are not going to see him again until he testifies against you. You will rot in prison. And unless you turn the others in, we're done here!" Elliot roared.

"Just remember, detective: if my friends aren't arrested within a week, they'll know it's the signal to start up again. They may take a stranger. Or they may go for the good doctor again, though I suspect he won't put up much of a fight this time around. But he would be so fun anyway. No matter what you choose, the clock's ticking, detective…"

Elliot snapped. He lunged at Eric, every inch of his body flaring up with anger. Elliot's only desire was to make him pay, make him feel as much pain as he had caused George. Visions swam in front of his eyes, sounds roared in his ears: George lying on the highway, barely breathing; the heart monitor beeping alarmingly and flatlining; George's limp figure, on a ventilator because he was unable to breathe on his own; George waking up and insisting it was a dream- even while hallucinating, he had thought it was impossible that he would ever escape the hell he'd been through; and, finally, George crying out as his dreams turned into the agony of nightmares, and Elliot hadn't been able to do anything about it.

It was time for payback, time for revenge; revenge on Eric for harming George and revenge for the indirect harm it had caused Elliot. He slammed Eric against a wall, punching and kicking. He wouldn't mind whatever consequences there were, as long as he made Eric pay.

"Elliot, get away from him!" Cragen ordered, dashing into the room. "He isn't worth the complaint."

Elliot gritted his teeth. He couldn't let him get off that easily. Not when George had been hurt so badly.

Suddenly he remembered the conversation with George. It felt like it had happened a million years ago. George didn't approve of the death penalty; he wouldn't approve of Elliot doing this either. He shoved Keyes away forcefully. "This is nowhere near over," he promised Eric angrily.

"You are oh-so right about that, detective. I haven't gotten to tell dear Georgie good-bye yet. I will see him before I go to prison, whether you like it or not," Eric declared.

"You're wrong," Elliot insisted. Throwing him a look of utter disgust, Elliot stormed out of the room.

Elliot entered the squad room, seething. Cragen walked up to him. "Elliot, maybe we should-"

"Don't tell me you're even considering that shit," Elliot snarled.

"What other choice do we have?" Cragen asked desperately. "I don't like the idea at all, but lives are at stake here."

"You're smart. Think of something that doesn't involve George! It'll be a cold day in hell before I let him anywhere near that freak! George has been victimized by him once already, and if you think we should let that happen again, you need to switch back to the homicide unit!" Elliot snapped. He picked up a picture of George's injuries and pointed to it for effect. "Think about it, captain!" he ordered.

"We've had to do similar things before. And again, I don't like it at all. Not when they came so close to killing him and they had such an impact on him. But I don't know what else can be done."

"We make that freak see that one way or another we're getting them and there's something in it for him if he cooperates," Elliot suggested angrily.

"But Elliot, he knows that could take years and countless other victims. George will be safe here, and we'll make sure Keyes can't pull anything," Cragen offered.

"George has been hurt before while talking to people here," Elliot reminded him.

"We'll do something to ensure his safety."

"I know of something you can do to ensure his safety! Don't let that bastard near him!" Elliot fumed.

"Elliot, we might have any other options," Cragen insisted.

"This conversation is over," Elliot stated. He stalked towards the crib and opened the door.

George was resting on a bunk, still looking drained. The drive and identifying Eric in the line-up had clearly taken a lot out of him. George looked so vulnerable, Elliot noted. He looked like he was always prepared to defend himself, but he also looked like any attempt he made to defend himself would fail.

"No way. No way in hell is he doing this," Elliot whispered to himself. George stirred slightly.

"Elliot?" he asked fuzzily. Elliot sat next to him and stroked his face.

"It's me. Go back to sleep, we don't need to leave for a few hours."

"What's bothering you?" George asked tiredly. "And don't try to say it's nothing, just to mollify me."

Elliot reluctantly filled him in. "In interrogation, he confessed, but he won't give up his accomplices."

"And there's nothing that he's willing to do? Most like him have some kind of bargaining chip. Flat-out refusing seems uncharacteristic and highly unlikely." Elliot almost found himself wishing that George wasn't such a talented psychiatrist.

"He wants to talk to you," Elliot said quickly, hoping that saying the words faster would lessen their impact somewhat.

"Oh. I had a feeling…" George trailed off.

"You had a feeling what?" Elliot pressed.

"I had a feeling that he would have something left to harm me with; a parting blow of sorts. Whether the harm is mental or physical, he'll luxuriate in it, like how he's luxuriating in the police's inability to catch the others without his help- he's a textbook sadist. I don't really want to do this," George confessed. Elliot was impressed that George was managing to profile so well, despite the last few weeks, but he was still worried.

"Then don't. We'll find another way."

"There isn't one," George stated dejectedly.

"We just haven't found it yet! Give it time," Elliot said desperately.

George sighed and stood up, walking towards the door.

"Where exactly do you think you're going?" Elliot asked edgily.

"To talk to him," George said uncertainly.

"No you are NOT!" Elliot yelled. He stood in the doorway, blocking George from exiting.

"Elliot, I'm a capable adult. I can make this decision by myself. He will kill people if I don't do this, and I am not about to let that happen."

"I'm not going to let this prick victimize you again! I'm tempted to ask the feds to send someone to act as a bodyguard as it is- and you're going to go in there willingly?" George was shocked that Elliot thought that he was in enough danger to warrant a bodyguard, but he didn't show it.

"Either I talk to him, or others get hurt- what do you think I'm going to chose? Elliot, this is hard enough for me to do in the first place. Please don't make it harder," George begged.

"How is it I'm the only one who sees what a bad idea this is, and that there are other solutions? When did I become the voice of reason around here?"

"This is a bad idea- I know that. One of the worst we've had to act on in a long time," George agreed.

"You are not going in there- you've barely even started to recover! You hardly managed to keep it together in the line-up and you aren't ready to talk to him. You have PTSD bad enough as it is without letting him revictimize you!" Elliot slammed a fist into the bed frame as he spoke.

"I'm well aware of my problems. I really appreciate your concern, Elliot, but I still have to do this," George said evenly.

"Then I'm going in that room with you!" Elliot exclaimed.

"If he allows it, I would like that," George admitted.

"What do you mean, if he allows it?" Elliot demanded. George met his gaze.

"He needs control and he wants me twisting, no matter what he has to do to get there. He's going to do anything he can to make me out of my element, afraid, and powerless." Elliot was absolutely crushed. George knew what could happen to him, and he was going to do it anyway. Despite the terrors he'd been through, he would subject himself to it again so that Keyes would give up his group. The thought made his chest tighten painfully.

"Please, George, I don't want to see you hurt again! Give it a little time. You have no idea what it was like seeing you hurt the first time. I can't do it again-you can't do it again. Don't do this," Elliot pleaded.

"I'll give it a while. But if you can't convince him, then I'm going to have to do this," George said.

Elliot swallowed. "I'll get Alex to talk him into a deal." He had a chance, at least, to keep George safe, and he was going to make sure nothing happened.


	27. Chapter 27

Alex Cabot sat across from Eric Keyes and looked at the table. A large, shiny black bruise had formed over Keyes's eye and she would be too tempted to smirk if she saw it. It was nowhere near what he deserved, but it was a start, especially because of how he occasionally touched it and let out a hiss. She'd cheered silently when she saw Elliot attacking him- she just wished she could have kicked him. Considering how they got when one of their own was attacked, she doubted she was the only one. Still, she was happy that Elliot had gotten a small amount of revenge.

She set her hand over the old, decaying table. "Is there anything we can do to convince you turn the others in?" she asked Keyes.

"There's nothing you can do, besides what I already asked for," Keyes replied with a low voice.

"You won't even do it for a reduced sentence?" she pressed.

"I wouldn't do it if you dropped all the charges," Keyes replied stubbornly.

"There's nothing we can do." She intended it to be a question but it became a statement.

"Nothing," Keyes confirmed. "Unless you let me talk to Huang, alone."Alex looked up and saw the determined, cold look on Keyes's face. She sighed and walked out of the room.

She met Elliot's gaze and shook her head. She could almost feel Elliot's blood run cold; the temperature in the room seemed to have plummeted. She shivered slightly.

"There has to be something!" Elliot insisted. He looked terrified. Alex wondered when he'd become so protective of George. No, when was the wrong question. The when was obvious; the real question was why. But now wasn't the time to ask. She sighed and shook her head again.

"There's nothing I can do. I can't force him to cooperate."

"Those bastards need to be caught," Elliot hissed.

"The only way that will happen is if we give him what he wants and let George talk to Keyes," Alex said sadly. She didn't like the idea either, but she didn't let it show.

"I'm not letting George near him! There has to be another way!" Elliot said furiously. "Alex, you have no idea what it's been like since George was found. He can't do this, even though he says he's going to. Even worse, with everything Keyes said, it's going to be so dangerous- Keyes wants to hurt George again, as much as the thought hurts. That bastard still wants more."

"Elliot, George doesn't have to do this, but if he doesn't, we'll never catch them," she said quietly. "They're too smart. Keyes is our only chance."

George walked up to them and grasped Elliot's arm. "I can do this, Elliot. I'll be fine."

Elliot grabbed George's wrist and pulled his sleeve up, pointing deliberately to a wound that was in between healing and becoming a scar. "You aren't fine to begin with! You can't do this!"

"Alex, can we have a moment?" George asked. Alex nodded and left the room, though she would have liked to hear the conversation.

"Elliot, it'll be fine," George whispered. He caressed Elliot's face.

"George, I'm not saying my position is worse than yours, but I will say I love you too much to watch this happen again. The thought of you being hurt is like a knife to the heart," Elliot whispered.

"Elliot, I really appreciate the fact that you care about me," George whispered. "But I have to-"

"No. I'm not letting you do this," Elliot growled.

"You won't let me?" George repeated indignantly. "Elliot, I love you. But this is going a bit far."

"I'm going too far because I don't want you to go near that psycho and let him hurt you again?" Elliot asked incredulously.

"No, but I'm an adult, Elliot. This isn't about you letting me do anything," George replied.

"Fine! How about this, then; I'll watch you go talk to that freak, even though just seeing him behind a mirror nearly gave you a panic attack, and he spent the whole time in interrogation bragging about what he did and saying how much he liked hurting you. I'll just sit back and let you walk into that disaster. Any other stupid risks you want to take? Maybe you want to call Matthew Brodus up for a reunion?"

George stepped back and shook his head. "Elliot, I'm sorry, but there's no reasoning with him. I have to do this. Otherwise he'll kill people, and you know I can't let that happen- even though I'd rather I never have to see him again."

Elliot bit his lip. Tears formed in his eyes. "What I said was uncalled for. You're just trying to do what's right. I'm sorry, George. I just… I need to protect you. You're as important to me as my kids and I'd go to the same lengths for you."

"It's okay. And I'm glad that you care enough to want to protect me- it feels nice and you make me feel safer than anyone else can. And I'm glad I'm family to you, because you are to me too. I love you," George whispered. He stroked Elliot's cheek and wiped some of his tears away. "It's okay," he repeated.

Elliot couldn't believe that he was the one crying and George was the one reassuring him, given their positions. "I love you," Elliot whispered. He pulled George in by his waist and kissed him. George wrapped his arms around Elliot's neck, mostly for balance, and relaxed into the kiss. Elliot moved a hand to George's chest. George's heart was beating almost as fast as his was, he noted. George was more afraid than he'd put in words- but he was going to do this anyway.

Elliot pulled away and looked at George carefully, taking in the fear, determination, and love. He sighed and glanced at the clock, hardly able to believe how much time had passed. He wanted to say something- anything- to George, but he couldn't get the words to form. He looked around the room again. The tension was almost a part of the room.

George spoke first. "I love you, Elliot. Thank you for protecting me. I can't say in words how much I appreciate it. I wish I could just ignore him, but I can't, I absolutely cannot, take the risk of other people being hurt. It hurt so much knowing that there was another victim after me. I don't want anyone else to go through what I did, now that I know what it feels like."

Elliot swallowed visibly and looked into the interrogation room. It was empty at the moment, but Keyes would be lead in there soon.

He mulled George's words over. George's endless compassion felt almost like a curse. It was a large part of what made him the person he was, the person Elliot loved so much, but it was also leading him into a situation neither of them needed. He remembered the condition George had been found in. George looked healthier now; his skin had regained a bit of color, and the cuts and bruises were certainly better than the photos showed. But the pain, depression, and panic were as visible on George's face- possibly more so- as the determination and love Elliot had seen.

He finally managed to vocalize his thoughts. "I just wish someone else- anyone else- could talk to him. You're the kindest person I know… you didn't deserve what happened to you. You definitely don't deserve to have to see him ever again. You're too good for that. I wish I could stop that bastard from toying with you."

George gave a forced smile. "I wish that, too. And thank you." He leaned in for another kiss.

The door began to open. George pulled out of their compromising position just before Cragen and Alex walked in. Elliot also managed to hide his tears before they saw them and got suspicious.

"Are you ready, doc?" Cragen asked in an almost fatherly voice.

George looked into the interrogation room and saw Keyes being lead back in. He took in every detail of the room and of Keyes. The room was plain and intimidating, cold and without any details. Keyes matched it perfectly. George could almost feel the cold radiating off of Keyes.

After a moment, he turned around and looked at Cragen, Alex, and Elliot. Cragen looked concerned, Alex looked worried, tapping her foot slightly to release the anxiety she felt. Elliot looked panicked and slightly angry; he looked ready to attack anyone he thought was a threat to George.

George knew, of course, that he could back out. It would be so simple; he just had to say no. Elliot would guide him home, and they'd call some feds to send a bodyguard for a week or so until they knew George was safe and not being targeted again.

But there were other potential victims he had to think about. Even if they didn't go after him again, they could very well go after others. He touched a cut under his sleeve, letting his sense of touch connect with his thoughts. The rough, jagged knife they used hadn't posed any danger, but it had caused so much pain. It went with their profile that Keyes and the others would simply let their victims dehydrate; it was a final blow, to make it as slow as possible.

He couldn't let the torture that had happened to him, or the death that had nearly come about, happen to anyone else. He wanted to say no; he wanted to go back into Elliot's arms, but he couldn't back out. He forced himself to nod and say "Yeah. I'm ready."

"Okay then," Cragen said awkwardly. They stood in silence for a moment before George walked into the interrogation room.

Elliot bit his lip. He just knew something was going to happen, and he couldn't stop it. He turned and looked at the wall, pretending to be interested in the poster that hung there, before he managed to get himself under control and watch the interrogation. George looked as terrified as Elliot felt.

All he could do was hope nothing would happen.


	28. Chapter 28

George wanted to back out the instant he saw Keyes. Every sound, every sight, every emotion that he'd experienced while being tortured came back to him in one moment. His breath hitched in his throat.

"Hello, doc. You're looking well," Keyes said with a hint of sarcasm. George took a deep breath and walked all the way in with trembling steps.

"What do you want from me?" he asked in the steadiest voice he could manage.

"I want to talk. Isn't that what you shrinks are all about?" Keyes quizzed.

"What do you want to talk about, then?" George asked nervously.

"Do you remember the first time you evaluated me?" Keyes asked.

"Actually, no. I do remember you, but I've done too many evaluations to remember the individual sessions," George said truthfully.

"I remember. You got me committed… you were in control for a while, but I reversed our roles nicely."

"So that's what this is about?" George asked angrily. "You felt powerless so you decided to abduct, drug, torture, rape, and almost kill me?"

"Essentially. What were you feeling, by the way, when I was torturing you?" Keyes asked.

"How do you think I felt?" George retorted.

"I know already, but I want you to tell me- I want it to come from you," Keyes replied.

"Pain, mostly," he replied. He looked at the window. "How much longer?" he asked himself silently.

Keyes gave a dramatic sigh. "Once a shrink, always a shrink. You're trying to act stoic… but you aren't. I can tell everything you're feeling. Pain, depression, anger, guilt, self-hatred... You feel like you deserve this- and you do- and it's making you hate yourself. Really, after a while, you're going to do more to yourself mentally than we did. If your self-castigation isn't severe now, it will be soon, I'm sure of it."

"Ah, so that's what you're trying to do; I wondered what you'd try to do as your parting blow. I can't believe you chose to try and make me hate myself, though; it's such a useless thing to do. You're pathetic," George scoffed. He was pleased that he was managing to lie about his feelings to the person who'd made him the most vulnerable. He hoped Keyes would never know that he was right about George's thoughts and emotions.

"You're right, it is useless. But not for the reason you're trying to pass it off as. It's useless because it's already been done- you already despise yourself. In any case, I'm still above you," Keyes replied. "Everyone is, really. You were more resilient than the others, but that was only because you dreamed about Elliot. Without him, you would have been begging to die almost immediately."

"So? Just because he's what gave me drive doesn't mean I'm weak," George retorted.

"If you weren't then, you are now," Keyes said. "It's nice to see that you're not acting like a superior shrink anymore."

"Whether I was or not, now you're acting superior," George pointed out. He took in a deep, steadying breath. He didn't think he could keep it together for much longer. The walls seemed to be closing in on him and his heart was hammering against his ribs.

"I like this, though. I like that you're so helpless."

"I wouldn't call myself helpless," George corrected him. He looked at the window again. Elliot was probably ready to kill by now. Part of him wished Elliot would come bursting through the doors and guide him out, make sure he was safe. Elliot's big, muscular arms… he shook the thought out of his head when Keyes started speaking.

"Elliot sure had me convinced. The way he protected you- you would think you were one of his children! What exactly is your relationship now?"

"We've become close friends. The emotions associated with the near loss made him realize he wanted to be me friend."

"I agree with everything you said there, doc, but replace 'friend' with 'lover'," Keyes said bluntly.

George sucked in a breath. He hated the way people with these kinds of personality disorders were so good at reading emotions. "You're free to think how you want to," he said simply.

"How do you think Elliot would have reacted if you had died?" Keyes asked nonchalantly.

"You'd have to ask him yourself," George said, trying to calm himself. He knew Keyes was just trying to make him feel afraid, but the fact that it was his goal didn't reduce the fear that was sending shivers down his spine. He wanted so badly to leave, but he made himself stay. He couldn't let another victim go through what he had.

"I suppose he would have been upset- he cares about you. I can't figure out why he does, though," Keyes said.

"Elliot gets angry often, but he's a caring person," George replied.

"I know; I just don't see why he, or anyone else, would care about you. With all your flaws…"

"You aren't going to succeed in making me hate myself," George informed him.

"You're right; I'm not, because, again, you already do. I can tell everything you're feeling. You hate me, but you hate yourself more. You're terrified, and you're depressed. You want to die." George took a shaky breath but didn't reply. Keyes continued anyway. "Want to know what we would have done if we hadn't let you go?"

"Not really. I'd rather you just tell me who the others are so I can leave," George said honestly.

Keyes shrugged and spoke like he didn't care what George had said. "We would have waited until you'd begged to die; we would have slowed the cuts and burns and shifted to psychological tactics like mock executions. And we still wouldn't have killed you once you begged. We would have made it your deepest desire to die, but you would never have gotten it. Then we would have left you and made sure you were found, but you would never have recovered."

"Good thing that didn't happen, then," George said, feigning a lack of interest. "So who are the other rapist/murderers?"

"I'm not ready yet."

"What else?" George asked tiredly.

"You still haven't answered my first question. What went through your mind when I tortured you?"

George hid his hands in his pockets so no one would see them shaking. He closed his eyes in weariness and leaned against the wall as his knees weakened. "Pain, mostly," he repeated.

"Don't you remember everything else? Or do you need me to remind you? I put the gun against your head and forced you into the van. You were so afraid… and then we all took a turn with you when you were in the car…"

"Stop," George ordered. He felt his blood run cold.

"Then we made you pass out with the chloroform and waited for you to wake up. Despite all your other flaws, you do have a nice body."

"I said stop." Fear leaked into his voice and, judging from the pleased look on Keyes's face, the terror was evident on his face as well. Not a good sign; he was losing the miniscule amount of control he'd had over the situation.

"And then we cut you. It was like being the first to walk on a patch of snow; a sense of pride at being the first to shape it. I was the first to make you scream like that. I can still hear it… such a beautiful sound."

"Stop," George hissed. His breath rushed in and out of his chest and his heart was beating against his chest so fast and hard that it almost hurt. This had to be what a heart attack felt like.

"Did you ever think about what your funeral would be like, while we were torturing you?" Keyes asked.

"No," George lied, not wanting to remember the thoughts he'd had during his panic attack. He wouldn't give Keyes the satisfaction of knowing that he had taken George's greatest fear and made him desire it as much as he feared it.

"I can tell you're lying," Keyes informed him.

"Well, I'm recovering," George said, faking a sense of confidence. God, he was stupid for doing this...

"Well, you have a long way to go," Keyes said with a laugh.

"Maybe so, but I'm not letting you win. I'm rebuilding my life."

"Really, now? Then tell me what progress you've made so far," Keyes requested.

"Come on. Do you really think I'd give you the intimate details of my psychotherapy sessions? Use your imagination," George said with an equal measure of lethargy and scorn.

"Okay, I will. My guess is that at first you wouldn't talk at all… then you opened up once your lover was with you. But you backslid once they found me, and you blame yourself- again, you should- and you're growing depressed again, and you're showing symptoms of PTSD. I bet it's only a matter of time before you're put on medication."

"Huh. Well, it's not like it would be the end of the world," George said with a shrug.

"Are you surprised about this?" Keyes asked.

"I expected all this," George lied.

"Well, the only thing I'm surprised about is that you aren't twisting as much as I thought you would be. That won't work; I want you completely, hopelessly broken," Keyes hissed. George's eyes widened as he realized what Keyes's intention was. Adrenaline flooded his veins, but it didn't help; it was too late.

Keyes lunged at him, and his defenses were too worn down to let him react. He didn't have a chance to fight back or get away before Keyes collided with him.


	29. Chapter 29

A fist connected with his chest, two voices shouted, he was pinned against the wall, another shouting voice appeared, then the person was forced away- he slid to the ground. Shocked and confused, he stared at the ceiling and tried to make sense of what had happened.

His brain refused to process any information. He just kept replaying the last minute in his mind. He was talking- he was pinned against the wall- now he was here…

"George? George?" A terrified voice called. He blinked to see Elliot standing over him, panic clear in his eyes. "George, just do something if you hear me," Elliot pleaded. George's body complied and he touched Elliot's wrist, the motions lost. It felt surreal.

"He needs to get checked out," Cragen observed.

"No shit, captain," Elliot snarled.

"I was just saying…" Cragen began defensively.

"Whatever," Elliot said dismissively. He turned his attention to George as he tried to sit up.

"Stay still until you get checked out," Elliot ordered. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I do, but it's not clear."

"What do you remember clearly?" Elliot asked.

"Walking into the interrogation room," George replied. The EMT's arrived and began taking his vitals.

"You should get checked out, just in case, but I don't see anything dangerous. It's up to you," an EMT concluded after a minute.

"I really would rather just leave," George insisted.

"Okay," Elliot said softly. He helped George to his feet and turned to Cragen.

"That's assuming, of course, that you don't want to use him as bait for yet another psychopath? Maybe the next one will finish Keyes's work- I bet you'd love that!" Elliot said furiously.

"Elliot, of course I don't want…" Cragen trailed off, looking abashed.

"Save your breath," Elliot growled. They left without another word.

Once they were in the car, he decided to check on George's mental state; he still seemed shocked. He sat down in the driver's seat and cupped George's cheeks.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm not even sure- which probably means I'm not," George replied. He leaned into Elliot's touch.

"You're still confused?" Elliot guessed.

"Very. It feels like I was in the interrogation room one second, and the next I was with you. I know what happened, of course, but it feels like it could have been a dream."

Elliot knew George would need to talk later, but he could almost feel the lethargy radiating off of him. He decided to address the issue later. "Want to go home?" Elliot asked.

"Please," George replied. Elliot kissed him gently before starting the car.

"Lay down and I'll bring you an ice pack," Elliot offered when they arrived home. George got in the bed while Elliot went to the kitchen before walking up to their room and handing the ice pack to George. George set it on his chest and let out a deep sigh of relief.

"That's better," he murmured.

"Get some rest, doc," Elliot suggested.

"Where are you going?" George asked as Elliot started walking away.

"Lots of paperwork to do. It'll just be a few minutes, and then I'll lie down with you," he stated.

"Okay," George said quietly. Elliot walked into the living room and sat down. He grabbed the papers, but he stared at them without even reading them. His emotions were too strong to let him focus.

Fury barely scratched the surface of his feelings. There was his anger at Keyes, for daring to attack George. And there was his anger at having been ignored. He had warned both George and Cragen what would happen, and neither had listened to him. He could understand George, because he was under so much pressure, but Cragen? Unforgiveable.

Just then, the doorbell rang. He walked over and opened the door to see Cragen standing there. "Yes, captain?" he asked acidly. He opened the door wider to let Cragen in.

"I came to check on George."

"He's resting, and the last thing he needs is more stress," Elliot informed him.

"Elliot, I'm-" Cragen began.

"Don't you dare- don't you dare act like this will go away if you apologize," Elliot ordered loudly.

"Elliot, listen-"

"No, you listen!" Elliot roared. "He was raped and tortured for a month by this freak! And what did you do? You put George in the room, alone, with his attacker! I don't care if Keyes was giving you every criminal on the FBI's most wanted list- you used George as bait and you almost got him killed! AGAIN! Did you already forget how close to death he was? Were you TRYING to get George killed?"

"He said he could handle it."

"Would you let any other victim do that, even if they said they could do it? Say you had a female victim who'd been raped and her attacker was insisting on talking to her. Would you let it happen? No, you wouldn't! So why do it with George? Do you care about him and his well-being at all?"

"Elliot, I'm sorry about this. But we got the names of Keyes's accomplices, so they'll go to jail."

"I don't care if we catch anyone! How many times do I need to say that I just want to help George?" Elliot exclaimed.

"Elliot, you need to think about the other victims," Cragen reminded him.

"You're damn right, captain! But George is the only living victim, and I can't do anything for the others except get justice. But I refuse to do that at the cost of someone else being harmed. That means making sure George does NOT get attacked by the guy that tortured and raped him and does NOT get another trauma added to the things he has to deal with!"

He took in a sharp breath. "Have you forgotten all the problems rape victims experience? Flashbacks, nightmares, panic attacks… multiply that by ten for someone in George's situation. And then you let him back in the room with Keyes! Now George has been victimized and traumatized again, and he hasn't even recovered from the first time. Not even close! So thanks, captain! I'll be sure to remember how much you aided his recovery," Elliot said sarcastically. His head was spinning and his blood was boiling.

George sighed when he heard raised voices coming from downstairs. So much for sleeping. He decided to check on Elliot. Wincing slightly, he stood and walked towards the noise.

"Elliot, you do realize that George went in there willingly, right? He knew this could happen. It was his choice- I didn't force him," Cragen stated.

Elliot was about to retort when he saw George inching towards them from the base of the stairs. "I thought I told you to get some rest," Elliot said. He set an arm under George's shoulders and half guided, half carried him to the sofa.

Cragen's eyes widened slightly when he saw the interaction between Elliot and George. He hadn't realized it before, but suddenly everything made sense. No wonder Elliot had gotten so angry at him- in Elliot's mind, harm to someone Elliot loved was worse than harm to Elliot himself.

Cragen decided to make amends before Elliot developed a grudge. "George, I apologize. I shouldn't have allowed you to go in there at all, especially alone. And Elliot, I apologize to you as well. I know how much it hurts when someone you care about is injured in any way," Cragen said.

"It's okay. It was as much my fault as anyone else's," George said softly. Elliot sent George a glare that said he thought George was wrong, but George didn't alter his statement.

"I want you to forgive me, Elliot, but I'm not going to beg," Cragen said shortly. He stood up and left with a friendly nod to George.

Elliot glared at the door for a moment before he stood up and grabbed a spare blanket and pillow from the hall closet. He placed the blanket over George and set the pillow against his leg. George took the invitation, propping his head on Elliot's leg while Elliot shifted into a more comfortable position.

"Elliot?" George began softly.

"Yeah?" Elliot replied.

"You're mad at me, aren't you?" George asked quietly. Elliot stroked George's head gently.

"Not at you. At Cragen and Keyes," he corrected.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You don't have a reason to be sorry. Despite what you said, you aren't to blame at all. Keyes was the one who attacked you and Cragen shouldn't have let you in at all, or he should have at least insisted that someone be in there to protect you," Elliot spoke in a controlled voice. He wasn't mad at George, but his anger at the others threatened to leak into his voice and he didn't want to add to George's worries.

"Did he give up his the others?" George asked. "I'd hate for-"

"He gave them up when we pulled him off of you. There are three others. Olivia, Fin, and Munch are after them and they should be caught by tomorrow at the latest. Don't worry about that right now, though," Elliot instructed. George leaned back and closed his eyes. Elliot rubbed George's temples slowly and let his thoughts roam.

What had happened to George was the last thing he needed and it was bound to set George's recovery back. What should he do? He knew he needed to get George to talk, but he didn't know what to say. He let out a deep sigh. "George?"

"Yeah?" George replied.

"I want to talk to you, but I don't know what to say," Elliot explained.

George laughed softly. "In other words, you want to shrink me but you don't know how?"

"Something like that. So give me a hand here, doc," Elliot replied.

The mood got serious again once George started speaking. "I felt so helpless when I went in there. But I can't even describe my emotions now. I should be bothered by what he said, and I think I am, but I don't really feel it. Maybe I've been degraded so much that I can't feel any worse, but there you go."

"I'm sorry, George," Elliot whispered. Tears formed in his eyes. "I'm so tired of people hurting you! I don't understand it at all. You're such a beautiful person- why would someone want to hurt you?"

"Because that's my lot in life?" George suggested pessimistically.

"George, it will get better," Elliot whispered.

George gave a mirthless laugh and shook his head. "What gives you that impression? Is it the fact that I had a choice between facing Keyes again and letting people die, which wasn't a choice at all, or the fact that he knew exactly what buttons to push to make me panic, or the fact that he attacked me again, or the fact that he was completely right when he said that I hate myself?"

Elliot was immediately put off. "I- uh…" He trailed off dumbly. He couldn't believe what George had just said- it didn't sound like George, at all. He knew why George felt it, but he was stunned, nonetheless.

"I'm sorry, Elliot!" George gasped suddenly. "I didn't mean to lash out-"

"No, George- seriously, you should be pretty pissed off right now," Elliot said flatly. "You got attacked and mind-raped by Keyes, no one protected you… I'm mad at just about everyone, and your anger would be even more justified than mine."

"I shouldn't be mad at you though. You're my… lover. I shouldn't do that," George whispered.

"It's not like you have anyone else to talk to about it," Elliot pointed out.

"But you don't deserve to be my emotional punching bag. You don't deserve it and I should know better," George said. He buried his fact in Elliot's chest. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

"None of it is your fault," Elliot whispered. "I promise, nothing's wrong with you. You've been through hell and it's had a huge impact on you, but it isn't your fault, it's the others'." He pulled George off his chest and looked at him carefully.

The guilt on George's face was hard to see, especially because none of it was deserved. "George, I know this is insanely difficult, but we will get through this," Elliot said softly.

George shook his head. "Even if we do, it's not like I deserve to recover."

The words felt like acid; an unbearable, burning pain wherever they landed. He knew George was trying, but in George's position, even the most resilient person on the planet would have broken down like George had. But it still hurt to hear his self-hatred. It hurt to see the man he loved in so much turmoil.

Elliot closed his eyes and held George close, wondering what he was going to do.


	30. Chapter 30

George slept uneasily that night. Late in the morning, Elliot noticed that he shifted often and furrowed his eyebrows, making him look like he was feeling something in between discomfort and pain, and he let out soft, almost inaudible, sounds of fear and pain as he relived the torture he'd been through.

"I'm not going anywhere, doc. I'm here for you and I'm going to protect you," Elliot whispered. He pulled George towards him gently.

"Ungh… Get off, stop…" George moaned. Elliot stroked George's hair gently, trying to ease the fear George was feeling.

"Get off-no, stop! Please, please just stop!" George cried. He started shaking and he coiled and uncoiled his fists; clearly he was trying, but failing, to defend himself in his nightmare.

Elliot barely managed to keep from crying. It was tearing at his heart. Against his volition, he visualized what George was experiencing in his dream. The thought of George being tortured and raped made him sick to his stomach. He'd heard about what George had gone through, but it was still a shock every time he thought about it. George looked so vulnerable; Elliot couldn't even think about it. It was too much.

That made him feel guilty; George had lived through it, yet Elliot was complaining about the mere thought. He was the one who had said they don't get to 'pick the vic'. But despite all he'd ever said… George was different, somehow. Tears formed in his eyes.

He shook his head and sighed, trying to distract himself by waking George up.

George cried out again and shifted. "When are you going to get a break?" Elliot asked sadly. He leaned over to shake George's shoulder. George tensed reflexively at the contact and woke with a sharp intake of air. He immediately tried to hide the motion.

"Elliot," he mumbled awkwardly. He leaned over and wrapped his arms around Elliot's waist firmly, as though Elliot was a life preserver. Elliot pretended not to notice that he was being grabbed so tightly.

"How are you feeling, doc?" Elliot asked quietly. He kissed George's forehead.

"I don't even know anymore," George grumbled.

"Not too surprising, considering," Elliot noted with a frown.

"What's bothering you?" George asked, seeing Elliot's expression.

"The fact that you're hurting. You shouldn't have to feel this way," Elliot said softly.

"I do still have some aches and pains," George muttered.

"There's other ways you're hurting that I'm annoyed at, though. The nightmare you had-"

"You knew I had a nightmare?"

Elliot sighed at the question. George hadn't had a night terror as bad as the one in the hospital, but he still made pained noises depressingly often. George was under the impression that it was a rare occurrence.

"You give physical signs a lot more than I let on," he admitted.

"What do I say when I have the nightmares?" George asked, looking abashed.

"You usually moan and beg for them to stop. Sometimes you, uh, cry my name. There was a time in the hospital when you screamed and you sounded anguished," Elliot informed him.

George looked mortified. "Sorry-"

"Don't apologize; it's not your fault-"

"Sorry you had to see that," George finished anyway.

"Is there anything you don't think of as your fault?" Elliot asked with a frustrated huff. He knew that all victims went through times when they blamed themselves, but George doing it frustrated him. No one deserved what Keyes had done, George least of all. He couldn't think of anyone more innocent and less deserving of pain than George.

"The thoughts aren't going away any time soon," George said grimly.

Elliot nodded and accepted his words, making a note to bring George's self-blame up during their next therapy session. He sighed and held George close.

"I do love you, El," George said softly. "Sorry, I'm just a bit of a wreck right now. Actually, that's an understatement."

"It's understandable that you're struggling right now," Elliot observed. "And it's cute that you called me that," Elliot added with a wry chuckle. "I need a cute pet name for you."

"No, I'm good," George said. A moment passed in silence. Elliot moved so that they were both sitting up.

"George, I need to ask you something. I know you want to forget about last night, but you didn't say much about what you felt. You should probably talk about it before it sinks in. Unless that was all you had on your mind. I don't really know, so if you feel okay with it..."

"You're right; there is more I should- want to- talk about," George said. He rubbed at his chest absently.

"Does your chest hurt?" Elliot asked worriedly.

"Yeah, it's bruised pretty badly," George said. He lifted his shirt and Elliot winced at the sight of the darkened skin. He skimmed his fingers over the bruise and shook his head with a bitter expression. Then he leaned forward and kissed the spot. George's breath hitched and a blush appeared over his skin. He pulled his shirt back down and Elliot moved upwards to kiss him. George gave a timid half-smile.

George broke the kiss and moved to sit between Elliot's legs, resting his head on Elliot's chest and closing his eyes.

"So, anyway," Elliot muttered to restart the conversation.

George sighed and opened his eyes again. "Anyway. I just felt so much panic and helplessness when I went in there. I know it was the best choice, but it still wasn't a good one. I just can't shake the memories and the second I stepped into that room, they all rushed back at once, even worse than before. And as if that wasn't enough, he guessed all my emotions spot on, which was unnerving. It's bad enough that I have to be talked out of hating myself and blaming myself for what happened, but having my attacker guessing at my emotions like they're completely obvious and attacking me mentally with the knowledge…"

Elliot bit his lip to keep from cursing, but didn't succeed. "That bastard. I still can't believe that after all that, he felt the need to do… the only word I can find for it is mind rape. And I don't like anyone messing with you, mentally or physically."

George nodded despondently. "It's just that I still think- no, never mind."

"What?" Elliot pressed.

"I've already said it before, and saying it again will piss you off," George said apprehensively.

"Just say it. If I get mad, it's on your behalf; I'm not going to get mad at you directly," Elliot assured him. He kissed the top of George's head. "I love you too much to get mad at you for a thought."

George took a deep breath. "It still feels like something I brought on myself. Again, I can find no justification of any sort for the feeling..."

"Ah, doc," Elliot sighed. He rubbed George's shoulders reassuringly. "I love you. I'm not mad that you think that- not at you, at least- but I do wish I could show you that it's wrong. I love you."

"Love you too," George murmured.

After a while, George spoke again. "By the way, I've been meaning to ask you something. When the trial ends, can we get out of here for a while?"

"There's too many memories here," Elliot surmised.

"Exactly," George said with a nod. "I need to get away from this to recover. I want to try to finish the trial first, though I don't think I can. But we'll see."

"We definitely can leave after the trial," Elliot said softly. "If it helps you, I'll do it."

George gave the ghost of a smile, but then he gave a deep sigh as his thoughts returned to his attackers.

"Don't think about them right now," Elliot suggested, feeling foolish. Of course George couldn't stop thinking about them when he wanted to, or he'd have no problems.

"It's really hard to stop thinking about it," George stated.

"We need a distraction," Elliot concluded.

"If you have any ideas, I'm all ears," George said grimly.

"Want to get lunch?"

George hesitated; he hadn't been anywhere except the 1-6 and Hendricks's office since he'd been back. "I guess," he finally decided.

"Then let's go," Elliot said. They stood and walked to the bedroom.


	31. Chapter 31

Elliot scanned George's body as they got dressed, making a note of each wound. Each one was like a knife to his heart; it hurt to see the injuries. Elliot felt a wave of hatred well up for the ones who had done this to George.

He'd felt hatred for people before. He'd hated suspects, and he'd wished that he could hurt some of the rapists he'd encountered. But he had never felt fury this intense before. If he hadn't thought of George's disproval, he would have killed Keyes in the interrogation room, and he wouldn't have felt an ounce of remorse for his actions.

"Elliot?" George called softly as he caught Elliot's gaze. Someone else might not have noticed the gaze at all, but George was an FBI agent, and he was, despite everything, more perceptive than most people.

"Yeah?" Elliot replied as he pulled his shoes on.

George swallowed visibly. "Do my… injuries…" he shook his head, trying to make his thoughts clear. "Do my injuries bother you?" he finally managed.

"They bother me because they caused you a lot of pain and almost killed you. They bother me because they make me hate Keyes and every time I see them I want to kill someone," Elliot replied.

George nodded sadly and changed into a pair of slacks.

"You knew I felt that already, though. What did you mean by the question?" Elliot probed.

George sighed and looked down. "It's nothing. I was just thinking about what Keyes said… and I had a bit of an angsty thought," George explained.

Elliot frowned. "What did that bastard do to you that you didn't mention yet?"

His tone lacked condemnation- towards George, at least-but George still averted his gaze. "I didn't think about it until now because I was worried with surviving and keeping myself going. But now that I have time, and I'm not facing a life-or-death situation, you know?"

He waited for Elliot to nod despite the lack of a real question. "Now that I have time and energy to worry about it, I'm just thinking about how I'm going to get back to myself. And he told me- I feel stupid for even thinking about it, but I think it got to the point where I absorbed everything he said- he told me that no one would want or love me again even if I survived. I know he's wrong, you know? I know that you love me, but I feel so unsure about myself, that I can't believe that that's true. I can't completely believe that anyone loves me, let alone you," he admitted painfully.

Elliot gave a deep sigh. He sat down on the dark blue duvet and motioned George to sit next to him. He wrapped an arm around George's shoulder. "I do love you. I know Keyes did a lot to you, but for the most part, what Keyes tried failed, because it brought us together, instead of killing you or making you lose it mentally. And even if you can't get back to normal completely, the alternatives will be okay… if you can't work with SVU anymore, you could do amazing things for Major Case. It'll be hard, but you can keep yourself together, and I will always, always be here to help. I'm not going to say I'm going to be perfect, but I will do anything I can for you."

George smiled softly. "I love you too, and I'd do anything for you as well."

"You already did a lot for me," Elliot said simply.

George blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You survived. You held on. Even if you didn't do it specifically for me, I appreciate you holding on and being with me. I need you."

"Thank you for being my leaning post. I need you too," George said. He got a distant look on his face. "I love being with you, but quite honestly, if someone had told me, before all this, that I would end up with you, I would have told them they were nuts. Let alone if they had said that this would come about as a result of…" He swallowed and played with a loose thread on his shirt. "Let alone as a result of almost dying after being tortured and raped."

"I would've said the same thing if someone said I'd be with you."

"I'm happy with where we are, though. I mean, I don't think I ever would have asked you on a date…"

Elliot smiled wryly. "I wouldn't have asked you out either."

George gave the ghost of a smile and looked downwards again. "There's another thing that's bothering me, though. Despite what you said… To be honest, I feel like the smallest thing could tip me over the edge and ruin everything. I think I'm going to have to be extremely careful not to run myself into the ground and make myself snap."

George took a deep breath. "And that scares me. I've never been mentally volatile. I sympathized, but never understood, what my patients felt when they said they were afraid about not being able to keep themselves together. Well… I know now."

Elliot sighed and kissed George's temple. "It'll be hard, but like I said, I'm here for you. And I'm not about to let anything else happen to you."

"Okay," George said. After a moment he took a steadying breath and stood, grabbing Elliot's hand. "Let's go."

Elliot pulled George into another comforting kiss before wrapping an arm around George's waist, guiding him outside. They spent a moment reveling in the sunny weather before getting in the car.

George and Elliot ultimately decided to eat at a quiet Italian restaurant near the apartment. Elliot had been there before and he enjoyed the food, and the atmosphere felt relaxing enough for both of them.

"I've been wondering about something," Elliot began after they sat down and placed their orders. "Do you want to talk to Kathy and the kids?"

"I… well, the thought makes me nervous. But I have to eventually, I guess," George replied as he took a sip of cool water. "When were you thinking of doing that?"

"Today, actually. If you don't mind. I figure sooner rather than later, so that they won't think we've been lying to them, and so that it'll be less awkward when we take some time after the trial."

"Well, I guess…" George trailed off. "I'm a little nervous."

"Don't do it if you don't feel ready. It was just a thought," Elliot said softly. He looked down at the table, thankful that they were in an isolated spot.

"I know. I do want to try, I'm just afraid about nearly everyone on the planet except you," George said sadly. "I'm still adjusting."

"Why is that?" Elliot asked.

"That I'm nervous about most people, or that I don't feel anxious about you?" George asked.

"Both," Elliot clarified.

"Everyone else, because I'm still jumpy and edgy, and even though I know that not everyone is going to attack me, I still feel defensive. Again, I'm still adjusting. I'm not afraid of you, though, because you make me feel safe," George said.

Elliot set a hand on George's shoulder. "I'm glad I make you feel safe."

"It feels good to have someone there. I wish it had happened as a result of something less damaging, but like we said, it was just about the only way."

George gave a deep sigh. "Still, it's nice to have someone to talk to for once."

"There wasn't exactly anyone close to you before this, huh?" Elliot guessed.

George shook his head. "I had Nora to talk to, but that was rare. Otherwise, I didn't really have anyone. I didn't have any serious lovers- relationships with others don't work well for everyone in this line of work. Even friendships are hard to sustain."

"So… what did you do before this?" Elliot asked, taking a sip of water.

George mirrored the action. "Nothing, really. I immersed myself in my work. Occasionally an old friend from med school or the FBI would call me, but that wasn't too often."

Elliot nodded and was about to reply, but his cell phone vibrated. He read the text message over, but he didn't comment. He decided to wait until they'd left to tell George what he'd found out, but he couldn't help the small smile that appeared.

"What's going on?" George asked, seeing the look on Elliot's face.

"Nothing. Well, nothing bad, anyway. I'll fill you in after we eat," Elliot said. Their food arrived and they ate in silence.

"So what's going on?" George probed as they left the restaurant. They entered the car.

"I got a text message," Elliot began as he started the engine. "And I found out that Keyes will get life in prison instead of the death penalty because he gave us information. The other three were caught an hour or so ago. Their allocution is tomorrow and the trial begins in a few days. So we can convict all the bastards that did this to you, even if we don't give them the death penalty."

George didn't say anything for a minute. "We can make an appointment with Rebecca beforehand, at least," George finally muttered. "I'm going to need that and more to get through this."

Elliot wasn't surprised that George wasn't expressing a desire for revenge, but he still wished George would. It would give Elliot a sign that George was angry at Keyes and the others for what they did, which in turn would indicate that George wasn't blaming himself.

"You have a long way to go, but that doesn't mean your recovery won't happen at all," Elliot said softly. They arrived at the apartment and got out of the car slowly. Elliot wrapped an arm around George's waist possessively as they walked inside. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't stop his need to assure them both that George was safe. Keeping a physical connection seemed to satisfy him, as he'd found out since George had been back, so that's what he did when he was feeling protective.

George leaned into his touch before turning around and kissing him. "I love you."

"You too," Elliot replied.

A few hours later, Kathy, Maureen, Kathleen, Richard, and Elizabeth walked in. Kathy carried Eli and placed him on her lap.

"So what's going on?" Kathy asked after George had been introduced. Elliot sighed as he began talking.

"George and I have known each other for a while, and recently we became… involved. Right after he got hurt, actually," Elliot explained.

"But you're straight," Kathy argued.

"Not entirely…" Elliot mumbled.

"Okay, so you're not straight and you're with a man now," Kathy muttered to herself.

"Yeah. I just never felt the need to tell anyone… until George and I got together."

Kathy looked up and asked, "What were your injuries, George?"

George swallowed and looked down. No matter how many times he said the words, it never got any easier. "I was abducted from a subway station and held captive for a month. I was tortured and raped repeatedly." There was a long silence.

"Did you find the guys who did this to you?" Kathy and the kids asked, almost simultaneously.

"Yeah. Trial begins in a few days," George said softly.

"Good luck," they murmured.

"Thanks," George replied awkwardly.

The rest of the conversation was spent talking about Kathy and the kids, with occasional breaks to talk about George and Elliot's plans.

"That could have gone worse," George sighed when he and Elliot were alone a few hours later.

"Hey, it was awkward, but they accept us, at least," Elliot noted.

George nodded and sighed. "That's true."

"Are you okay?" Elliot asked worriedly.

"Yeah, I think so," George muttered.

"What's bothering you?" Elliot pressed.

"I'm nervous about the trial. It's all I can think about," George admitted.

"Sorry, doc," Elliot said softly. He wrapped his arms around George possessively.

"It was bad enough facing Keyes. But he was only one of my attackers- the leader, sure, but only one. Facing three of the others… I mean, it will be safe this time, but they'll still remind me about it."

"It's nerve wrecking," Elliot agreed. He leaned over and kissed George's lips gently. "But this will work, it has to. It's about time you got some closure."


	32. Chapter 32

George shifted nervously as he waited to give his testimony. Rebecca had spent the previous session noting how afraid he got when his attackers- and, by extension, the trial- were mentioned, and had dissected the various factors that went into his fears- but that didn't help now. He was afraid of facing his attackers. He was afraid of the reaction he would have.

And he was afraid of something he hadn't thought about before; the other victim's families would be there. They would almost certainly wish it was someone they knew on the witness stand instead, and that George was the one in the morgue. He knew they weren't as heartless as to actually wish he was dead, but they would wish it had been their own loved one who had survived… If the families spoke, it would almost certainly cause him some feelings of survivor's guilt.

"Just a while longer," Elliot said softly when he saw George's anxiety. George sighed and nodded.

"I'm not sure I can do this, though."

"We have to testify now," Elliot noted. George took a deep breath and they walked in the courtroom. Elliot sat on a bench; George was immediately called to the witness stand.

"Docket number 2463. State of New York versus Daniel Hunter, Martin Hunter, and Michael Bergin. Six counts of first degree murder, seven counts of rape in the first degree, seven counts of assault in the first degree, one count of attempted murder in the first degree," a woman announced.

"How do you plead?" The judge asked.

"They plead not guilty, your honor," Linda Thomas, the defense attorney, spoke up.

Alex Cabot walked forward and began her questioning. "Please tell us what happened."

"I was-" He swallowed. He didn't think he would ever get through his statement without causing fear. He was certain he'd have at least one full-out panic attack before the trial ended. "I was abducted at gunpoint from a subway station. I was raped, then drugged, and placed in an odd building. Over the next month I was tortured and raped countless times." He shuddered heavily.

"And besides Eric Keyes, who has already pled guilty to the charges, who else attacked you?"

"Daniel and Martin Hunter, and Michael Bergin," George stated.

"Thank you," Alex said. She walked away and Linda stepped forward.

"When you were with my clients," she began, "You must have had a lot of time to see their faces. But the description you gave police was severely lacking in detail, and you didn't even identify one of my clients. Why?"

"Because I was…" He tried to say how bad his condition had been, but the thought made his heart pound furiously. He closed his eyes, trying to ease the panic. It wouldn't do to break down on the witness stand and be declared incompetent to testify.

"I wasn't in the best condition, mentally or physically. And I know they attacked me, I just couldn't describe their faces well," George managed. His chest constricted to the point that he wondered how it was possible that he was still breathing.

"Is it true that it was Eric Keyes's word, not your description, that lead to the police finding and arresting my clients?" Linda asked.

"Yes, but like I said-"

"Is it true that the sex between you was consensual, albeit rough?" Linda interrupted.

"No!" George exclaimed heatedly. "I don't like rough sex, let alone sex that involves being held at gunpoint, drugged, and held captive for a month! Last I checked, consensual sex didn't involve someone almost dying, and it didn't involve withholding food and water. Last I checked, that was kidnapping and rape!" he was almost shouting, feeling more agitated than he ever had before.

"But we all know that some people fantasize about fake rape," Linda said coldly.

"Objection, your honor!" Alex cried.

"Sustained. Watch it, counselor," the judge said sharply.

"No further questions."

"You may step down," the judge said.

George trembled as he walked back to his seat. "I didn't want it, I didn't want it..." George whispered to himself. He felt completely shaken.

"I can't do this," he said to Elliot when he got close enough. Elliot made to embrace him, but he was called to the witness stand before he could.

"Hang in there," Elliot whispered as he stood.

"Detective Stabler, tell the court what happened when you found Doctor Huang," Alex requested.

"He was in serious condition on the side of a highway. He was showing symptoms of shock and he had numerous injuries all over his body."

"Describe the injuries."

Elliot looked over at George and noticed that George still looked shaken. He took a deep breath and explained. "He was bruised and bloody; there were at least a dozen bruises, cuts, and burns. He also had clearly been raped."

"Was there any forensic evidence?"

"Not on him, but it matched an MO we had in the system. And the MO later led us to Eric Keyes's DNA. He testified that the defendants acted with him."

George swallowed nervously and shifted, bracing himself for a long and exhausting day.

Hours later, they were finally done for the day. George was still feeling panicky.

"Just hold out for a while longer," Elliot encouraged as they walked inside the apartment. "Do you want something to eat?"

"No," George said. He didn't think he'd be hungry for a long time after talking about his ordeal.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Elliot asked gently, knowing that George was overwhelmed.

"I'm going to take a shower, if you don't mind. We can lie down together after if you want, though."

"I don't mind at all. And I'd like to lie with you," Elliot said softly. George retreated up the stairs. Elliot walked to the bedroom a minute later.

George stepped into the shower and closed his eyes. He ran the water and looked down at himself, giving a deep sigh. He began to scrub vigorously at his skin, knowing that what he was feeling was normal in his situation, but wishing he could get rid of it. He was still unable to stop the feeling of being dirty, however, and it would only be calmed when he had rubbed his skin raw. His skin began to hurt, but he still kept going, and let his thoughts wander as he did so- he quickly learned to ignore the sensation, because the need to feel clean was so overwhelming.

Now that he wasn't in a life-or-death situation, he was focused on getting back to normal. And, though he'd known for a while, it was still difficult to accept. He wasn't going to get back to normal. Not for a long time, and even then, it would only be partial. He wasn't going to have a regular sex life, and that upset him.

And he wouldn't be able to deal with suspects for years, if ever. He might be able to handle homicides, but sex crimes were going to be impossible. Elliot had said George would do well if he switched to the homicide unit, and George knew it was true, but the fact that he would have to switch at all still bothered him.

And there were even more problems that weren't related to sex. His PTSD would heal to the point that he could stop constantly reliving it, but he'd never forget what happened. The mental scars would fade slightly, but they wouldn't heal.

And there was the fact that he was physically scarred. The marks were on his skin, and he still had some pains in his muscles; he suspected that they would become chronic, like they did for most in his situation. He'd read about the effects of torture in medical school, sympathizing with, but never understating, what the victims felt. He knew better now.

How much worse would things get? He'd almost died. He was mentally and physically damaged and it was going to take years to recover and function again. Then again, he did deserve what had happened to him, his attackers were right about that-

He shook the thought out of his head. Thinking that way was the least helpful thing he could do. It would hinder his recovery, and it would do more damage than Keyes had- George shook his head again and swallowed nervously. Keyes had said that George was doing more to himself than Keyes had done… It just went to show how much Keyes had screwed him up, George thought bitterly.

George was still berating himself, attacking himself mentally, every chance he had. And right now, there was no question that he was harming himself physically- if he didn't stop, he was going to damage his skin. Like how certain parasitic infections could cause people to scratch their skin and damage it, but he didn't even have a physical explanation… just classic PTSD. Rape trauma syndrome.

He showed all the signs, including bonding with the one who had found him- well, that was different, because he knew Elliot and because the feelings were reciprocated. But he'd be lying if he said the fact that Elliot had been the one to take his statement wasn't a part of why he was so attached to Elliot.

But the fact that he was showing all the clinical signs still didn't excuse the way he was acting. He was being self-destructive- but he couldn't stop.

He bit his lip and leaned against the wall, still scrubbing viciously at his body- no, he most definitely wasn't even close to clean, despite the raw skin crying out in protest and begging him to stop. He wasn't even close- maybe if he scrubbed more- he bit back a cry of pain as he actually drew a little blood from his arm.

Then he let out a desperate, but quiet, sound of frustration. He was overwhelmed, and he didn't want to live with it anymore. He didn't want the physical and mental pain, and he didn't want to be haunted by the memories anymore. But there wasn't a way out.

Actually, there was one way- but that thought was shaken away too, with a nervous shudder. The desire to die had been there, first when he was being tortured and then again shortly afterwards, in the hospital. It had gotten somewhat better, but then he'd felt the desire again. He just couldn't deal with it anymore. It wasn't really that he wanted to die- he just wanted not to think or feel. It was confusing; he wanted to be with Elliot, but everything else…

He knew it was normal for people in his situation to feel exactly the way he did, but he was still concerned about his own mental state. He was showing some dangerous signs, and he wasn't sure if they were going to escalate or not.

George felt a wave of exhaustion come over his mind and body, and he leaned more heavily against the wall. He needed some time to back away and get himself together.

He had a feeling it would be far too long before he got that chance.


	33. Chapter 33

George finally managed to convince himself that he wasn't going to feel any cleaner- despite the fact that he still felt dirty- and he stepped out of the shower with a sigh, wrapping a towel around his waist. He walked slowly and entered the bedroom.

"George?" Elliot called.

George gave a startled shout, then shook his head. "Sorry, Elliot, my startle reflex is getting absolutely ridiculous… anyway, what is it?"

"Are you okay?" Elliot asked gently.

"No," George said flatly. He laid down next to Elliot, looking troubled.

"Want to talk?"

"No," George said, shaking his head. "Believe me; I've done enough talking today."

"Sorry," Elliot said softly. He noticed that George's skin looked irritated, and he immediately knew what had happened. He didn't comment, though; George had said he didn't want to talk, and Elliot wasn't going to press the issue when there was no chance that anything he said would help. It bothered him, but it was a sad reality for rape victims- though, he would try to convince George that in the future, he should give up on feeling completely clean, before he scrubbed his skin raw. George already knew that, but maybe Elliot could help.

He wrapped an arm around George's chest and, when the smaller man didn't object, began stroking his ribs lightly. George was healthier physically, but that didn't do much to reassure him now that he had George's mental state to worry about.

"This feels… intimate," George noted. Then he gave a sigh. "I'm pointing out the obvious."

"It isn't pointing out the obvious, really," Elliot argued automatically.

"Thanks," George muttered.

The room grew quiet, causing George to shift uncomfortably. "Sorry, I forgot that silence is a trigger," Elliot apologized. He'd spent the last few days trying to learn George's triggers, so that he could avoid them. They usually kept a television or radio on so that there would be some background noise.

"The odd thing is, I don't like sound any more than silence. It was loud when they did all those things to me." He swallowed. "There were shouts and things… but the quiet came to be associated with the pain and dread that I felt after, and just before, the attacks… I just figured out in the hospital that sound was the lesser of two evils," George informed him with a sigh.

George absently ran a hand over Elliot's arm. "You're pretty muscular," he observed. It was said without a hint of lust. Elliot wasn't surprised, though- he knew George wouldn't want to think about sex for as long as he could avoid it. It would be months, if not years, before he could manage to even think about sex. Not to mention the fact that it had only been a day or so earlier that they'd found out that George hadn't contracted any sexually transmitted diseases from his attackers. That had been a relief, but it didn't fix any of the psychological effects.

Elliot also noticed that he found George sexually attractive, though he was trying not to think of him that way, because of all George had been through. He tried to ignore his body's response.

"Yeah, I am muscular," Elliot said with a tiny chuckle. He leaned forward and kissed George gently. It was a soft, comforting kiss, but Elliot found himself getting hard- he wished he could have kept it at comfort for George's sake, because he didn't want to alarm George, but he couldn't.

George felt Elliot's hardness and pulled away. "You… want me," he whispered, shocked. The thought scared him more than it should. Elliot wasn't threatening like his attackers were, but George was still quite afraid of other people, especially men. It was extremely frustrating.

"Yeah… I do want you," Elliot mumbled awkwardly. "Don't worry about that, though."

"Does it bother you, though? The fact that our relationship isn't sexual?" George asked.

"Not at all. Victims always have a long wait before they feel up to it. I knew that going in," Elliot stated. "I knew you wouldn't want sex, and I don't mind. I do mind that it was all because of them, and that if it wasn't for the others, you'd be completely okay, but I'm not mad at you."

"You'd make a good psychiatrist," George noted with a sad, wry smile.

"Me? Nah," Elliot waved him off.

George embraced him tentatively. "Thank you for being so patient with me," George said softly.

Elliot returned the embrace. "No problem. You aren't at the point where you'd enjoy it, and if we do this, you should enjoy it too, you know? I want you to be a willing participant."

Elliot knew, the second he finished speaking, that something was wrong. George froze and tensed, he started breathing heavier and faster- Elliot knew something he'd said had been a very potent trigger.

"George, what is it?" he asked nervously. He hadn't heard everything that had happened yet, so he couldn't piece it together. He felt nervous at the prospect of finding out.

"No- get away!" George yelled shrilly. He pushed against Elliot, scrambling to get as far away as possible. They both stood up. George looked in Elliot's direction, but he didn't see him. His gaze went right past Elliot, only able to see the people who had hurt him. Elliot kept some distance but placed a hand on George's shoulder.

"George, you're safe, calm down," Elliot said quickly. He rubbed George's shoulder gently, trying to bring him out of the flashback.

_"I want you to be a willing participant," one of his attackers said. George cried out as the man pushed in and started thrusting roughly. Then his attacker started stroking him, making the rape feel even more degrading. In his mind, he hated them, but they were tricking his body._

_Agony, a desperate desire to escape, and humiliation fueled a stream of tears that ran down his face. He wanted to fight them, but that would only make it worse._

_His attacker stroked him rougher, and despite his efforts not to, despite the fact that he begged whatever higher power might exist not to make him, despite the pain, the man brought him to a climax. His body betrayed him, and gave his attackers what they wanted._

_He felt thoroughly dehumanized- he was nothing more than a toy to these people, nothing more than a source of amusement. And as soon as he stopped amusing them, they'd discard and replace him- The fact that they were trying to convince him that he deserved it, and the brutality of the attacks, indicated that they held malice towards him, however, so maybe they were just trying to make him think that he was just a toy to them. It would provide them with an even larger sense of revenge, if he felt like he was nothing, rather than someone they hated. It didn't matter to him either way, however. Either way, his mind and body were in agony._

_It felt like an eternity, but finally, his attacker left, leaving George lying in a heap on the ground. A tremor ran through his battered body almost constantly as he struggled to breathe, staring at the ceiling._

_He couldn't believe what had happened. Before then, they had never made him climax; they'd always just satisfied themselves and then left him alone. At worst, they'd made him… aroused, but they'd never actually… he swallowed, trying to calm a wave of nausea that came over him at the thought. They had actually made him climax…_

_He felt disgusted, but the emotion was dimmed by the other painful sensations, physical and mental. An unbearable pain flared through his entire body. And his mind was screaming louder than his body could; he was dangerously close to the breaking point. He wouldn't be able to hold it together for much longer-_

"George," Elliot called softly. George gasped as the flashback ended and he came back to reality. He looked around wildly until he saw Elliot. George barreled into him, wrapping his arms around him as though Elliot was an anchor to the real world, as though afraid that if he let go, he'd find himself being tortured again. Elliot gently ran circles on George's back.

"I can't breathe," George whispered shakily. Elliot moved a hand to George's chest and felt his heart racing. Elliot kept his arms around him, but made sure not to get in his face so George wouldn't feel like he was being suffocated.

"George, what made you want to be a psychiatrist?" Elliot asked to distract him. George just shook his head and breathed even faster. He was almost hyperventilating.

"Relax, George, it's okay," Elliot said softly. "Just try."

George reluctantly gave in. "Well-" he took a gulp of air- "I had a cousin who had bipolar disorder-" another gulp of air- "And I researched it to try and understand. I was interested. Then, in college, I took a class on criminal psychology and decided that's what I wanted to specialize in." George gradually calmed down as he spoke.

"George, what triggered the flashback?" Elliot asked softly when he felt George begin to relax. George broke down again and buried his face in Elliot's chest.

"When you said I… need to be a w-willing participant if we have sex..." His voice was muffled by Elliot's shirt. "The last time he raped me before he let me go, he said that and then he-he…" George's body began shaking with repressed sobs. Elliot stroked his back gently, waiting for George to continue. "Elliot, he m-made me, he made me climax with him! It was so painful and humiliating!" George cried. "I didn't want to, but they made my body respond!"

Elliot closed his eyes at the words. George had told him some of what happened, and Elliot had known that getting George to completely open up would take time. But that didn't change the fact that what George had been through shocked and disturbed him. His George, being hurt like that…

He made himself keep questioning George. He knew he had to keep him talking, even though he didn't want to know what other horrors George had experienced. He could deal with his own emotions later. "What else were you feeling?" he asked as gently as he could manage.

"Just so… I can't even find strong enough words for it. Hopeless, despondent, dehumanized, ashamed…"

"Ashamed? George, you know that you couldn't have stopped your body's response, right?" Elliot asked quickly, for affirmation.

"Of course- I have experience working with SVU, too- but I still felt it. I hated every minute of it but he made my body turn to his side. I know that I couldn't control it, but he convinced me- part of me- that it was my fault and that I deserved it… "

"George, I'm so sorry. None of that should have happened to you," Elliot whispered. George continued sobbing into Elliot's chest.

"I hated it… it felt awful and degrading but he made my body enjoy it- it was so awful." George shuddered heavily and closed his eyes. He made an almost frantic noise. "I'm never going to be ready. I'm not going to be able to do anything without a panic attack, let alone sex. I'm never going to get back to normal," George said desperately.

He sounded defeated, hopeless, broken. Elliot pulled George off his chest and tilted his chin upwards, forcing him to meet Elliot's gaze. George's dark eyes were red and puffy from tears, and Elliot immediately decided that tears didn't suit George at all. They made him look forlorn; a sharp, brutal contrast George himself.

"You will be ready one day. And I'm not going anywhere while you get to that point," Elliot promised.

George swallowed visibly. "But you don't know that I ever will be ready to do it, let alone able to enjoy it, like you say you want to wait for… There are people who never feel up to it again, we've both seen them. And you're a man- a kind one, but a man, and you're going to want more; you're going to want sexual contact eventually- you already do want it, actually…"

"But I won't leave you to find it somewhere else. Even if you never are ready to have sex again, you'll still recover from all the other psychological scars, and I will be here for you while you recover," Elliot assured him.

"Thank you," George whispered, his voice hoarse and slightly cracked. Elliot cupped his cheeks and rested his forehead against George's.

"You will get through this, doc. They don't have you anymore, and I'm determined not to let them keep a hold on you mentally. You shouldn't have to feel this anguished," Elliot said. George didn't respond, but he did look somewhat assuaged. "I love you, George," Elliot whispered.

"I love you too," George replied quietly. Elliot kept his arms around George and walked them to the bed. He pulled George down with him. George laid half on top of him, resting his head on Elliot's chest, while Elliot stroked his hair gently and tried not to feel guilty for having triggered another panic attack.

He knew that with so many triggers, it was only a matter of time before something became too much, and that he had no way of knowing that his words would be so overwhelming. At the same time, however, he couldn't help but wonder if there was a way he could have triggered a less traumatic flashback.

George couldn't help but feel nervous- about the human contact, about the continuing stress from trial, about the possibility of more nightmares and panic attacks. He was worried that it would be too much, and he wasn't sure if there was anything he or Elliot could do to help.

Thoroughly exhausted by the trial and the flashback, George found himself falling asleep quickly, despite his anxiety.


	34. Chapter 34

The trial continued for several weeks, and George quickly became overwhelmed. It was bad enough for him to have to talk about his ordeal over and over again. It was even worse when others gave their testimony; each time someone was called on the witness stand, it was an intense and painful reminder that his attackers had completely broken him, even if he was recovering now.

Elliot noticed that George seemed to be getting more edgy each day; he wasn't sure how much longer George could hold out. He hoped George could finish the trial, but he began to suspect that it wouldn't be possible.

Elliot sighed and once again walked inside the courtroom with George. George had to go to the witness stand again, and Elliot was worried that George wouldn't hold up so well.

Fortunately, they didn't have to be separated this time. George sat down next to Elliot and grasped Elliot's hand, being careful to keep their hands hidden so no one would comment.

"The people call Doctor Alan Winters to the stand," Alex announced.

"Doctor Winters, you were Doctor Huang's primary care physician while he was hospitalized, correct?"

"Correct," Alan said with a nod.

"Please describe his condition for us," Alex requested. George took a steadying breath and squeezed Elliot's hand, knowing how unpleasant the reminder of his injuries would be.

"He was in septic shock and he had numerous injuries all over his body. He had burns, cuts, bruises, and other similar injuries. There was barely an inch of him that hadn't been attacked."

"And what was your conclusion about these injuries?"

"The injuries supported the fact that Doctor Huang was tortured and repeatedly sexually assaulted. The burns were clearly done intentionally, and the cuts were also deliberate- and the cuts weren't at an angle that suggested self-infliction. They were definitely done by someone else."

George closed his eyes at the words, trying not to panic or let a flashback be triggered. It didn't work, and he was forcibly reminded of one of the first attacks that had happened.

_Pain flashed through his body, and he was still determined to fight back. "When are you going to give up?" he challenged. It was foolish to say anything, but he didn't know what else to do._

_"I'm not even close to done with you… When I am done with you, they won't even be able to identify you, except for your DNA," his attacker hissed. George suspected that he was lying, because mutilation of bodies hadn't been in their MO before, but that gave him no comfort. He'd be dead either way._

_His attacker pinned him down. George shifted, trying in vain to escape. He was severely reprimanded when the man burned his thigh with a cigarette. He whimpered from pain and closed his eyes, forcing himself to ignore the instinct that demanded he fight back- physically, at least._

_"That's it, just take the punishment. You know as well as I do that you deserve it," the attacker said._

_"No, I don't deserve it. I doubt even YOU believe that," George argued._

_The look of rage on his face told George that he was about to regret his words. "You'll learn not to talk back… this is your first lesson."_

_He flipped George over again, and George tried to fight back, but it was useless. His attacker quickly overpowered him, with the help of the others, and pushed inside him. The pain was overwhelming, making his body convulse as he gasped for breath._

_It was a long time before he dared to argue with his attackers again._

George looked down and saw his hands trembling violently. He was about to talk to Elliot, but he was called to the witness stand.

Alex Cabot stepped forward. "Doctor Huang, the defendants are trying to say that you were a willing participant in what they did to you. But-"

_"I want you to be a willing participant."_

_The words sent dread through his body. His attacker pumped into him painfully hard and fast, and then he started stroking him-_

"Doctor Huang, answer the question," the judge said.

George snapped out of the flashback. He immediately felt nauseated and he swallowed a few times, trying to calm it down. He pressed a hand to his stomach. "I…" he tried.

Then the nausea overwhelmed him, and he vomited. A blush appeared over his face, both from the sick feeling and from embarrassment.

"Do you need a doctor?" The judge asked. George shook his head. "Fifteen minute recess, while we wait for a janitor," the judge said. George stood and walked as quickly as he could to Elliot.

"Elliot, I can't do this," George whispered. The desperation was clear on his face.

"Okay, let's take a walk," Elliot said gently. They silently left the courtroom.

"God, Elliot, I can't do this anymore!" George cried once they were out of earshot. "I can't take any more reminders! The memories are intrusive enough as it is!"

Elliot became concerned when he noticed that George was shaking, and his skin was pale. "Shhh, just a little longer," Elliot whispered soothingly. He hugged George gently and pressed George's head against his chest. George shivered and closed his eyes.

"I just- I can't do this anymore," George stammered.

"Just finish today and we'll go from there," Elliot said softly. "We'll take a while to regroup afterwards."

"Elliot, I'm trying, but this isn't going to work," George whispered.

"Just hang in there for a few more hours. Then we can leave, and you can regroup before tomorrow. It'll be fine," Elliot said. He knew he wasn't convincing himself, let alone George, but he had to try.

"Elliot, you have no idea…" George began. He trailed off and shook his head. "Fine, I'll try."

"Thank you," Elliot said softly. He rubbed George's back for a while, until the break was over.

He wrapped an arm around George's waist and guided him back into the courtroom. Emil Skoda was called to the witness stand- at least they would give George until the next day to regroup.

"Doctor Skoda, you interviewed the defendants. What were your findings?" Alex asked.

"They are textbook sadists, and they're sociopaths."

"Do they know right from wrong?"

"Yes. They choose to ignore it, however," Skoda replied.

George set his head on Elliot's shoulder, letting himself fall asleep quickly. Elliot kept an arm wrapped around him, but made sure it was out of sight.

Elliot looked George over carefully. George looked tired, but it wasn't extreme; if he wanted to, George easily could have stayed awake through the trial. Elliot didn't have to be a psychiatrist to know that George was using sleep to distance himself; if he was asleep, he was sheltered from the panic-inducing testimonies the others were giving.

Elliot couldn't blame him. He felt bad enough remembering how it had been to find George and see him in critical condition; he couldn't imagine being the one who had been hurt, and hearing the attacker's side of what had happened... It was no surprise that he didn't want to hear it.

Elliot knew, nonetheless, that it was unhealthy for George to distance himself like that. He knew it would create more for George to deal with later, so he leaned over to shake George's shoulder.

However, once he looked at George, he didn't have the heart to wake him up; he didn't have the heart to bring George back to the painful reality. By now, it was mostly mental pain, with some residual physical pain, but that didn't make it any less sharp. The aftereffects of the torture were just as jarring mentally, and Elliot couldn't make himself subject George to it if he didn't have to.

He knew that he'd do anything that made it easier for George to cope, even if it was a short term gain and a long term loss. They'd worry about getting him fully recovered later.

Elliot forced a nagging thought- that George had probably thought something similar when he was being tortured- away. He didn't want to be reminded any more than George did… but his barriers were strong enough to let him get through it. George had no barriers anymore; they had been completely eroded, and it would take time to rebuild them from the constant physical and mental assault George had undergone. George needed an escape as often as he could get one.

Feeling a mixture of guilt and protectiveness, Elliot decided to allow George to sleep through the trial. He shifted slightly and let George rest more comfortably on his shoulder.

George's attackers were called to the witness stand, one by one. Elliot shivered as he heard them give their testimony. From the evidence Elliot had gathered, they'd been paid by Keyes to help him at first, and then they'd grown desensitized to the violence, and they'd come to enjoy it. Eventually they, like Keyes, were convinced that their victims deserved what they did to them, and they felt no remorse- even when it ended in murder.

However, the attackers continued to testify that their victims simply 'liked things rough'. They said that the others had been into dom/sub, and George had been too. Elliot ground his teeth to stifle the disgusted noise that threatened to escape. Even if George did like rough sex- which Elliot strongly doubted was the truth- that didn't excuse what his attackers had done.

Did they really think that defense would work? Liking rough sex didn't mean wanting to be murdered or almost murdered. And, he kept repeating to himself, George didn't like things rough in the first place. That was a complete lie to attack George's reputation, and it angered Elliot more than he'd ever admit. He knew he'd tell Rebecca about it in their next session, though.

George gave a small "mmph" and shifted slightly. Elliot moved his hand and stroked George's head and neck, letting out a silent sigh of relief when he felt George relax again. He continued to tell himself that he was wrong for letting George distance himself, because it would set him back mentally in the long run. But he just couldn't wake George up and make him listen to his attackers weaving a convoluted story about George deserving and wanting what had happened to him. Letting George's attackers pour salt in his wounds was the last thing Elliot wanted to do. The distancing was preferable to exposing George to more reminders.

The judge soon declared a recess, announcing that the trial would resume three days later. Elliot shook his head in bitter sadness as he reflected on what had been said on the witness stand.

He knew that things were going to get unbearably difficult for both of them before they got better.


	35. Chapter 35

Elliot waited until George's attackers had been sent out of the courtroom, and they were more or less alone, before leaning over to shake George's shoulder. "George, wake up," Elliot said softly.

George startled awake and looked around. "Are we done for the day?" George asked hopefully.

Elliot nodded, giving a reassuring smile. "Yeah, we are." He decided not to mention his concerns about George's sleeping pattern just yet.

A look of relief presented on George's face, and he sighed as he stood. They walked out of the courthouse, deliberately avoiding any discussion of the trial.

"We need groceries; want to go to the store before we go home?" Elliot asked.

"Yeah. That would be nice," George said. Losing himself in a mundane task sounded perfect.

He opened his mouth to say something as Elliot started the car, but then he froze from horror. Someone was smoking, and the open window allowed the scent of cigarette smoke to reach him. It overwhelmed his mind, and instantly the memories assaulted him, making him relive the attacks again, despite his attempts not to.

_Blood was drying on his skin, and he tried to move to get it off, because the sensation was maddening. But his arms were pinned above his head, preventing him from escaping. His attackers laughed, as always, at his attempts to alleviate the discomfort and pain._

_"You'll be better off if you just accept that you deserve it, and stop fighting back," one of his attackers informed him._

_"I don't deserve this; no one does," George argued. "This is sick and wrong."_

_"If this is wrong and you don't deserve it, why hasn't anyone come to arrest us?"_

_George snorted his contempt. "Is that really the best logic you can think of? They haven't arrested you because we're in the middle of nowhere, and they haven't tracked this place down yet, obviously! But once they do, you'll regret ever doing this to me."_

_A dramatic sigh echoed in the room. "You talk too much. But I'll take care of that," his attacker vowed. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, watching gleefully as George's eyes widened. George tried to escape, but that only increased his attacker's delight._

_The searing, blistering burn on his stomach made George cry out. He was pinned in place by the others, but he still tried to get away. "Stop, that hurts!" he yelled desperately._

_"That's exactly the point! But I might stop, if you do what I say," the man said coldly._

_"What do I need to do?" George asked, ready to give in to almost anything. He expected that they were going to make him perform oral sex, or something else that was equally humiliating. He had been forced to several times already._

_"Tell me that you deserve it." The order was accented with the sharp, burning pain of the cigarette, and George could feel himself breaking down. _

_George obeyed immediately. "I deserve it, I deserve it!" he yelled. His voice sounded strangled, like he was gasping and panting at the same time._

_"Because?" The attacker prodded, pressing the cigarette harder into his skin._

_"I don't know!" George cried frantically. "But I deserve it!"_

_"I'll give you a while to think about it… in the meantime…" The attacker trailed off. But he didn't need to finish the sentence, because he had already removed his pants, and then he pushed George's legs apart. George reflexively tried to squirm away, but that only earned him a kick to the ribs from two of the attackers, and a bruising grip on his hips from the one who was about to push in. They pinned his arms, and George began to cry, knowing that he was, as always, completely helpless to stop them._

_His attacker stroked George's thighs, trying to arouse him. The man laughed and pushed two fingers inside him, deliberately brushing against his prostate. George used every bit of willpower he had not to moan; his body was becoming aroused, an automatic response. But he refused to give them any satisfaction. He refused to show them that their attempts to make him aroused by them were succeeding, except for his erection. He wasn't going to participate._

_The man added a third finger. George cried out as he was stretched uncomfortably wide, but his attacker merely moved his fingers rougher and faster inside him._

_Then the fingers were yanked out. Before George could brace himself- as if that was possible- the attacker was inside him, pumping mercilessly and letting his delighted moans fall freely. George's agonized screams only made him increase the speed and force of his thrusts, creating a cycle. The more sounds of pain George gave, the more pain was inflicted on him, until he couldn't scream anymore; the only thing he could do was whimper and occasionally give a small moan._

_ An intense pain, combined with a warm, wet sensation, indicated that the rapist had drawn blood, and he gave another whimper. He would be sore for days on end, and there was no chance they'd give him a break while he healed. He'd be subjected to this again as soon as his attackers wanted to hurt him. It sounded impossible, but the pain would get even worse._

_ "Tell me how much you like this," one of them purred. George didn't- couldn't- say anything. He couldn't breathe, let alone speak._

_ He felt so dizzy… that was the breathlessness, he was pretty sure, or maybe he'd lost more blood than he thought- or the dehydration- he couldn't think, he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. His entire body, eyelids included, was made of lead… His eyes rolled back, his vision darkening rapidly-_

_"No passing out. You take the punishment- you don't deserve the escape from pain unconsciousness would bring," his attacker snapped. "Now say it! Say how much you like and want this!" One of the others moved a hand, resting it on George's throat; not squeezing, but the threat was there. He was on dangerous ground- if he did anything to upset them…_

_He was so weak, but he managed to whisper the words. "I… like this… want it…" His voice was faint._

_"Louder!"_

_"I like this! I want this!" George choked, barely managing to force the words out._

_The hand left his throat, but then a knife was set on his shoulder. "How much?" his attacker prodded._

_"A lot, I guess…" George whispered._

_"You guess?" His attacker's voice was getting louder, and he flinched in anticipation. A second later, a ripping pain flared from his shoulder, where his attacker cut his flesh._

_"No, I like this a lot!" George amended immediately, trying to reach to stop the flow of blood- but his arms were still pinned. The cut, exposed to the open air, began stinging, and he barely managed to bite back a cry of pain._

_His attacker went over the edge, spilling into George. George winced at the uncomfortable sensation the warm fluid caused. Every inch of his body seemed to be sticky with dried blood, sweat, and his attacker's fluids, and he was covered in dirt- which was getting into his cuts. Several of them were infected already, red and irritated, simultaneously itching and screaming not to be touched. He was getting worried about the possibility of the infection spreading, because he had no medicine to put on the lacerations._

_"Did you like this?" One of the rapists asked as the other pulled out._

_"No," George said. He realized a second too late that he'd answered wrong- wrong to his captors, at least. "I mean yes, yes!" he gasped._

_"Tell me why." The man's voice was husky._

_"I don't know…" George said helplessly. "Please, I know I deserve this, but I don't know why… please…" Did he believe that he deserved it? He couldn't tell anymore… He supposed it might explain why he was here in the first place, but he couldn't figure out anything specific he had done. He'd tried, so hard, to be a good person… But didn't they say the road to hell was paved with good intentions?_

_"This one time, I will help you," the attacker said with an exaggerated sigh._

_"T-thank you," George stammered, knowing that it was expected of him, perverse as the idea sounded- or maybe he just wasn't getting it. He couldn't think clearly; he could just react._

_"You want this because you know you deserve it, and even though it hurts you, you know that this is what you need. We're doing you a favor."_

_George obediently repeated what his attacker was saying, rephrasing it to sound more convincing. "I want it because I know I deserve it. It hurts, badly," He bit back a groan, "But I n-n-need this." The words caused him pain, but he would do anything to escape with his life. "I d-deserve it, and you're doing me a favor by making me see." He tensed his muscles, preparing himself in case he upset his attackers._

_He sobbed with despair when they returned to their assault. Nothing he said was convincing them…. "What did I do wrong?" he asked desperately. He got no response; apparently he was on his own now. They dragged the knife over the still-healing skin, clearly wanting to cause as much scarring as possible._

_They cut into one of his infected wounds, and the agony flared beyond what he thought possible. He screamed, feeling himself breaking. He tried, again, to convince them to stop. "I'm sorry I can't get this right… I know I deserve this, but please, stop- please, just for a little while… You're being unfair, I tried to do what you wanted, and you don't need to convince me, you already did…"_

_He screamed as another cut was made to the sore, stinging wound. "Please, I'm begging you, just STOOOOOP!" he shrieked._

_He panted and gasped for breath for a second as he realized that he was making his attackers angrier- they were cutting his skin rougher and faster. "No- I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that…" Christ, he couldn't win! Either way, he was asking for more abuse- if he begged, they'd be furious with him, but if he didn't, they'd just continue for as long as they wanted…_

_Wasn't that the point? No, he was trying to escape this, alive and in one piece. That was it- Right?_

_He closed his eyes again, wondering how he had gotten to this waking nightmare- no, nightmare wasn't enough of a description. Even his worst, most violent and twisted nightmares paled in comparison to this; he would gladly live any one of them, all of them, if it meant not being here. If he had known this would happen-_

Elliot blinked in surprise when George entered a flashback, and immediately tried to bring him out of it. He touched George's shoulder, murmuring George's name, but that didn't help- George seemed more afraid, if anything. Elliot became more concerned as the minutes passed, with no sign of George being able to escape the throes of the flashback.

"George, come on, snap out of it! Those monsters don't have you anymore; you're okay..," Elliot said. George began to shake, shivering and occasionally giving a small kick, squirming in an attempt to escape whatever the sick bastards were doing to him.

None of George's flashbacks had lasted this long before. He'd had panic attacks, sometimes lasting for hours at a time, but the flashbacks had never lasted longer than a few minutes.

George started breathing heavier and faster. His eyes had the classic distant look, the "thousand-yard-stare" that came with PTSD, but his eyes were also wide with terror. George began to whimper and cry out from pain and fear, clenching his eyes shut. This was the worst flashback George had had yet, and he showed no signs of coming back to reality anytime soon.

"How do I get him out of the flashback?" Elliot asked the air.

He got no response.


	36. Chapter 36

_"See, I knew we were right about you. Now do you understand?"_

_ George's eyes snapped open at once. "I understand!" George lied. Judging from his attacker's previous reactions, it was possible that just telling them what they wanted to hear would be enough to save himself, and then Elliot and the rest of the NYPD would find him and get him the hell out of here, and he would go to the hospital, and they would knock him out with pain medicine…_

_Then he'd go home, curl into a ball on his bed. Elliot would stay with him and soothe him, rub his sore muscles, help put medicine on his wounds. He'd would hold him close and tell him it was okay, and then they would listen to his favorite classical music CD and he would fall asleep, finally rest his aching body without having to stay hyper-alert. Elliot would protect him, and George would forget anything had ever happened-_

_A loud snarl from one of his attackers brought him back to reality. "You're lying. You don't believe it yet- you're too arrogant, too stupid, to understand."_

_"No- I understand, really…" George protested weakly. He didn't sound convincing, even to his own ears._

_"You'll regret lying to me," the attacker vowed. His voice became low, dangerously quiet. "You're going to be punished for this. You're going to regret lying to me- I know everything going through your head, and you should have known that I'm that much better than you. I'm going to show you, once and for all."_

_Oh god- he had made a lethal mistake. He was so stupid, he had to fix his blunder- "N-no, no, I-I'm not!" His voice was a terrified squeak. "How can I c-convince you? Y-you're right, you're right, I b-believe you! I u-under-s-stand now, I d-deserve this, all of it! I'M NOT LYING!"_

_He became hysterical with terror. "I'M NOT LYING! I'M NOT LYING!" he screamed. "I'M NOT-"_

_"Shut up!" his attackers roared. Another burn was made on his stomach, and then he was pushed over, so that most of his body weight was on the burned, reddened and blistered skin. He screamed, ripping his throat raw, at the white-hot pain coursing through his body._

_Tears fell down his face as he sobbed uncontrollably, his entire body shaking from pain and sheer terror. He even started to try to move away, even though he knew how dangerous that was. He thrashed and kicked with strength he didn't even know he had, trying frantically to escape._

_They quickly had him pinned again, and they pulled out a knife- they were going to- no, he didn't want to! "No no no no, please don't kill me! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to upset you! Don't kill me! You're right, you're right, I deserve it, all of it!"_

_The knife came to rest over his jugular, and he knew that they were about to take his life, and he was terrified, he didn't want to die here, he needed to convince them-_

_"Please, I'm begging you, please, don't k-kill me! I'm so, so sorry, I promise I won't upset you again! I don't want to die! Just give me one more chance, I'll do whatever you want, I'll say whatever you want- I'm pathetic and worthless, I'm arrogant, I deserve everything you're doing to me! I understand, I'll say it as much as you want, just please let me live! Please, I don't want to die!" he cried. His voice became higher pitched and squeakier, and eventually it cracked from fear._

_The knife pressed harder, and he screamed in mortal terror, louder than he had ever screamed before. "NOOO-OOOOOO!" They began to draw blood- just another stroke- he screamed again, as loud as he possibly could, desperately trying to get them to spare his life._

_He was going to die here. He gave a sob and a whimper as he resigned himself, waiting for the instant of pain, the blood gushing out of his neck, and then the darkness. He was down to his last moments. He wouldn't get to see anyone he cared about again, and he wouldn't get to tell Elliot how he felt. He wouldn't even get to say goodbye to anyone. His body shook as he waited to feel the knife cutting his jugular, ending everything._

_But then they laughed and removed the knife. "We won't kill you- yet. But if you fight us one more time…" The threat didn't need to be voiced. George immediately stopped, forcing his body to go completely still._

_"I won't, I promise I won't… just don't kill me. Please, please no…" he whimpered. Was that really his voice? He sounded absolutely pathetic, a high-pitched, terrified, desperate imitation of the confident, stoic man he had been, and he hated it. He had been reduced to someone so pathetic and fearful. How much more of his dignity was going to be taken from him? Did he even deserve to have dignity anymore? Maybe this was why- maybe he deserved what they were doing to him after all…_

_They moved the knife to his shoulder, directly over the cut they'd just made. For the first time, they actually stabbed, rather than cut, the skin. It still wasn't enough to be lethal, but it was much more painful, especially because of the laceration that was already there. And, to make it worse, he knew he'd soon lose enough blood to feel weak and dizzy._

_ Then the attackers twisted the knife, increasing the agony. George's legs squirmed in protest, but otherwise, he was still. He kept his body as still as he possibly could. He couldn't afford to make any movements that would make them think he was fighting them._

_"Apologize to us," someone ordered him._

_"I'm sorry I fought back… I'm sorry I upset you so-" he began immediately._

_"We know you're sorry for that. Apologize for the real things you've done, like being such a waste of life," the person snarled. "Apologize for being so fucking arrogant, so arrogant that you can't even name your most obvious flaws. Apologize for being so pathetic. This is all your fault; if you were a decent person, we wouldn't have to do this."_

_"I'm sorry I'm such a waste, and I'm sorry I'm arrogant and pathetic… You're right about me. I'm worthless. I deserve this, and I'm a terrible person…" he whispered hoarsely. He felt the pain from the stab wound pulsating through his body, vibrating with every heartbeat. But… he deserved the pain._

_It did make sense, in an odd way- if he was a good, just person, why would they go so far out of their way to hurt him? He had to have done something wrong; he just couldn't figure out what. And that proved that he was arrogant- he couldn't name what he'd done to deserve this, even though it was obvious that there was something. He couldn't even admit his own flaws. And his reactions while he'd been here proved how pathetic he was, too. He hated to admit it, but his attackers were right._

_"Good, you're learning… But you still need to be punished for fighting us," they told him coldly._

_"Then what was that for?" George whispered, turning his head to gesture at his injured shoulder. "Was that- was that because of me being pathetic, too? Was it because I'm arrogant?"_

_"Yes," they said. They grabbed a lighter and lit another cigarette, then they pressed it to his stomach. The burn was absolutely agonizing. He could feel the blisters forming as they continued pressing the cigarette into his stomach and dragging it across his skin._

_Eventually, the cigarette went out, and they held the lighter to his stomach, then they relit the cigarette and pressed it to his stomach again. He shivered in response to the agonizing heat assaulting his stomach. He whimpered and held his breath, using every bit of willpower he had not to fight back._

_But still, he deserved this. "I wish I was a good person, like Elliot…" George whispered, almost too quietly for anyone to hear._

_"But you aren't. You have far too many flaws," his attackers told him. "So you're staying here, and you deserve everything we are going to do to you. You don't deserve to live, but you don't deserve the peace of death- unless we decide you've been punished enough. Until then, the pain is all you deserve."_

_They continued burning him until he was barely coherent, almost delirious from pain. His mind was clouded, and when he managed to think, the thoughts flashed across his brain as vague ideas, rather than words. "I'm worthless…" he whispered weakly. "You're right- I deserve this…"_

_They laughed- they were always, always laughing at him, always tormenting him- then they finally left. George couldn't even bring himself to care about the fact that they'd be back, long before his body had a chance to recover from the latest assault. He was alive, for now- maybe he'd even be saved before they hurt him again, if he was lucky… If he managed to prove that he deserved to leave this place. He'd have to stop what he was doing, first, and maybe then he'd earn his way out…_

_ He continued to shake, heart pounding in his chest, as he pushed himself to his knees. His weak, battered body protested, but a new wave of nausea required him to move. His stomach was completely empty- he hadn't eaten for days- yet he still vomited, a reaction to the constant panic and the hysterical sobbing of the last- how long had it been? It didn't matter a great deal, anyway..._

_He managed to crawl to the opposite end of the small room, where the ground was somewhat cleaner, but the vomiting had put too much strain on him. He collapsed, too weak to move a muscle. The pain increased as the angry red burn made contact with the ground, but that was getting more distant. He could barely muster the energy to breathe, and his consciousness was fading._

_Oh, why was he even trying? He knew they would do what they wanted anyway, and they would take his life regardless of what they were saying now…. He was only delaying the inevitable. But maybe there was still some hope left- Elliot would find him, he had to. Elliot wouldn't let him die here, alone and afraid and in agonizing pain- surely he'd be saved before he broke? Elliot wouldn't let them succeed._

_George deserved the pain, but he didn't want it. Elliot didn't want him to be in pain either, and Elliot would save him, and take care of him. Elliot would help him recover… But no matter how much he told himself that, he couldn't bring himself to believe it._

_And even worse, he realized as the pain flared again, a large part of him didn't want to be saved anymore. He had just screamed and fought, battling for his life, but now he was in too much pain. He no longer cared about the fear of dying; the pain erased everything else. He wanted to be with Elliot, but the thought was giving him less and less comfort every time. And without the comfort, he was losing strength rapidly. He didn't have enough strength to do this._

_He wanted to die._

Elliot was worried. How long was George going to be trapped in the flashback? Would he be able to help George out of it? "George, you're okay; it's just me. You're safe with me. They don't have you- they can't do a thing to hurt you anymore," He said.

He continued trying to bring George out of the flashback, but nothing he did seemed to work.


	37. Chapter 37

"GEORGE!" Elliot was shouting now, trying desperately to bring George out of the flashback. George had been in the flashback for at least ten minutes, and Elliot was truly alarmed.

If Elliot had been anything but a sex crimes detective, he would have thrown up already from disgust at what George was reliving. As it was, he was having difficulty with it.

George whimpered and cried out from pain and fear. Elliot set a hand on George's shoulder to comfort him, but then-

"I'm not lying! I'm not lying!" George screamed suddenly. He sounded terrified.

Elliot didn't even want to think about what might be happening. He swallowed hard. "George, you're-"

George let out a sound of distress. "No no no no, please don't kill me! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to upset you!" George wailed, still not responding to Elliot's voice. "Don't kill me! You're right, you're right, I deserve it, all of it!"

He was trembling violently, and his voice was strangled, laced with fear. He didn't even sound like George. He sounded scared to death, and so vulnerable… And he was hurting. Terribly.

"For the love of god! What the hell did those sick freaks do to you?" Elliot exclaimed in dismay. Elliot had never heard George like this, and George's current state infuriated, horrified, and saddened him.

Elliot didn't want George to have to relive this a second longer. He grabbed his cell phone and frantically searched the address book for Rebecca's number- at the very least, she had to know of something to bring him out of it. Maybe she could drive to them and medicate him. "George, come on, you need to calm down! Snap out of it- Damn it, what is Rebecca's number? Goddamn piece of shit phone!" He shook his phone angrily as he yelled.

"NOOO-OOOO!" George gave a high-pitched, bloodcurdling scream and started to lash out, trying so hard to get away from the people who were hurting him. He flailed his arms desperately, and whatever his attackers were doing was getting worse, more intense, because he gave another terrified, agonized scream a second later. Elliot's blood turned cold, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. This was absolutely horrifying.

Then he realized that he needed to act immediately. Rebecca wouldn't be able to help soon enough, and he couldn't waste time trying to contact her. He threw the phone aside, not caring where it landed. "George, those bastards can't hurt you anymore…. Come on, you're going to hurt yourself if you keep this up, and neither of us want that to happen. You need to snap out of it…" His voice was barely more than a croak- he couldn't remember feeling this afraid before.

He let out a relieved sigh when George went still, but he wasn't sure if George was coming out of the flashback or if he was reacting to something his attackers were doing. Maybe George's attackers had pinned him down- Elliot felt nauseous at the thought. He swallowed nervously. "George, it'll be okay, calm down. Come on, I've got you, you're okay now," he said, voice wavering almost to the point of rendering his speech inaudible.

George gave a pitiful moan of fear, body shaking even more violently than it had a second ago. But, at least he wasn't screaming and lashing out- it was a start. Now to get him completely calm…

Elliot took a deep breath and pulled George's quivering frame close to his body, whispering the words of comfort in his ear. "They don't have you anymore, you're safe with me, and I'm not going to let them touch you ever again. I promise. Whatever you went through is over- it won't happen again. They'll be sentenced to life in prison soon enough, and then you can begin to heal…" He took more deep breaths, trying to stop his own hands from shaking. He never thought he would see George Huang like this.

George snapped out of the flashback, his entire body tensing, and the expression on his face- a mixture of agony, terror, and hopeless despair- made Elliot's anger explode. He wanted to go to Rikers and kill the people responsible, preferably with his bare hands. He'd slam them into a wall, one-by-one, and then he'd tear into them, cause them as much pain as they were causing his amazing, innocent George… He dug his fingernails into his palms, hard enough to draw blood. They were going to pay for this, and he didn't care what the consequences would be.

"Elliot! I, uh!-" George cried frantically, bringing Elliot out of his murderous rage.

"Shhh, just calm down a minute," Elliot muttered, trying to make his voice more soothing and calm than he felt. His voice was sharp and acidic at first, but he managed to make it gentle before he finished his sentence. Elliot hoped his fury hadn't scared George; he couldn't tell whether the flashback was the sole cause of George's terror, and if he added to it, Elliot would hate himself.

George gave a small gasp and clutched desperately at his stomach. He rolled the window down and stuck his head out, vomiting even though his stomach was almost empty. He continued to heave for a while, and Elliot rubbed his back, waiting. Eventually George moved back into the car, panting for breath. Elliot could still see the terror and despair on his face.

Elliot gently pressed George's head to his chest, letting George listen to his heartbeat. He continued murmuring comfortingly, but George still began crying in delayed reaction to the flashback. George's body started to shake again, and he gave giant, heartbreaking sobs as he grasped Elliot's waist, seeking as much physical contact as possible. Elliot stroked his hair with one hand, using the other to embrace him. "Shhh. No one's going to hurt you again, I promise; you'll be okay. Just breathe."

"I c-can't! I-I r-really can't!" George cried, giving a strangled sob. His voice was hoarse and raw. "I-I w-want t-t-to c-calm d-down, but I c-can't!"

George cried harder and harder as he spoke. He could barely speak between his sobs, and he had to take a sharp breath after every syllable. "I c-can't d-do this a-anymore, Elliot! I c-can't stand the m-memories! I c-can't, I can't, take it a-anymore! I al-always feel the f-fear, and the p-pain… at th-this rate, I'm g-going to end up e-even worse m-mentally than I did when I was in the h-hospital! I'm g-going to lose it!"

George buried his face in his hands, shaking his head disconsolately. "T-that's just it, th-though, is-isn't it? I'm n-never g-going to l-leave there, a-am I? No m-matter what I do, I-I won't be a-able to g-get away f-from them… I w-won't be able to f-forget the way it f-felt when they st-starved me, and when they r-r-aped me and c-cut me and b-burned me and b-beat me. Th-they, they'll always have me th-there, and they'll al-always h-hurt me, and a-attack me, m-mentally, and they-they'll always be th-there, t-telling me, that I d-deserve it, and that they-they're going to k-k…"

He bit his lip, struggling to force the words out between his sobs. "K-kill m-me, at any m-moment… and th-that they're g-going to m-mut-mutilate my dead b-body… Th-they're g-going to m-make me s-say why I d-deserve all that… I'm s-safe with you, but t-they'll always have m-me m-mentally! I-I'm n-n-never g-going to l-leave there, u-until I die!" His voice became higher pitched, and eventually his voice squeaked, cracking from strain.

George gave a muffled scream, laced with frustration and agonized despair. He rocked back and forth, letting out another sob. "I have n-never wanted to d-die as much as I did when I was th-there… I wan-wanted to j-just s-stop b-breathing, cu-curl into a b-ball and d-die... At f-first, I was s-so af-afraid of dy-dying, and I was des-desperate to l-live, but then it h-hurt s-so b-b-bad that I th-thought I was g-going to die- and I wan-wanted to-ooo!" he wailed, the pain, hopelessness, and misery clear in his voice.

The words twisted Elliot's stomach and broke his heart. "Oh, George…" Elliot whispered helplessly. George didn't hear him; he was crying too hard. His chest was heaving with each breath.

"I tr-tried, so hard, to h-hold on, be-because I k-kept th-thinking of you! I w-wanted to b-be with y-you like h-how w-we're t-together n-now, but b-by th-the end th-they b-broke me! Th-they com-completely de-destroyed ev-everyth-thing! R-right b-before t-they l-left m-me for dead, I was a-about to beg them… I was g-going to ask t-them to k-kill me! It h-hurt s-so bad, I did-didn't ev-even care a-about the f-fear a-anymore! I WANTED TO DIE!"

Elliot opened and closed his mouth several times without speaking. He was stunned, momentarily rendered speechless by George's words. When he got his ability to speak back, he still didn't say anything; he had to comfort George carefully, but he was unsure of how to start. He was completely, utterly lost.

Finally, Elliot decided that before talking to George about what he was thinking, he had to calm him down and get him to stop crying, and he had to soothe his anxiety. George was hyperventilating as he cried; if he continued breathing that way, he could pass out. Elliot wanted to make everything right, but he had to take care of the basics first. He had to do this bit by bit.

He took a deep breath and pulled George into his lap. They had to sit awkwardly, because of the steering wheel, but Elliot didn't care. He wrapped his arms around George and rested his chin on his head. Then George shifted upwards, burying his face in Elliot's neck; a vulnerable gesture that only intensified his suspicion that George was collapsing. George was as vulnerable, if not more so, than Elliot had ever seen him. Elliot had seen him physically prone, but the mental weakness was almost worse, in a way.

Elliot rocked him slowly, almost as though George was a child. George didn't object; he leaned into the hold, trying to get more comfort from his lover. The tears continued to fall freely down his face.

Elliot continued comforting him, whispering soothingly as he rocked. "Shhh, it's okay, George, don't cry. You're okay, I've got you… Shhh…" He felt tears pricking in his own eyes, but he ignored them.

"T-this… this h-hurts. _I _h-hurt," George whispered through his tears. He gave another choked sob.

Elliot let his breath out as a soft sigh. "I know it does, but no one is going to hurt you, ever again. I know it's hard to believe, with the memories so clear, but the torture is a thing of the past, and the memories will fade with time; the PTSD will go away. Some things won't be healed, but you'll get to the point where you aren't constantly reminded of it."

"N-no, it won't!" George sobbed. "It w-won't get b-better! I'm ne-never g-going to b-be a-able to m-move on. I'm not g-going to b-be a-able to go a s-single day w-without h-having a n-nightmare or a f-flashback or a p-panic at-attack; I'm n-not g-going to re-recover. It j-just isn't g-going to h-happen!"

"Shhh, this WILL get better," Elliot reassured him, wrapping his arms around his lover as tight as he could without causing pain.

George shook his head and clenched his fists. "No, it won't. And y-you know w-why, Elliot? I'm t-too p-pathetic to be a-able to do it, and I d-don't DESERVE to r-recover! Keyes was r-right a-about me! I'm a-absolutely p-pathetic and w-worthless! I d-don't d-deserve to be h-here, I d-deserve to b-be there! I d-deserve ev-everything th-they did to me!" His voice was laced with acidic hatred- but only for himself, not the ones who had done this to him.

The words, and the venom they were spoken with, once again caused Elliot to become momentarily stunned. Finally he managed to whisper, "No, George, you do deserve to recover. You have to believe me; you don't deserve what happened, and you definitely don't deserve to be there. You don't deserve to be in pain, you don't deserve to be hurt- you don't deserve to be cut and beaten and burned and raped. What you do deserve is for this to get better."

Elliot took a shaky breath. Then he continued, "And you aren't worthless or pathetic, George. Far from it; you're the strongest person I know. The fact that you managed to hold on for the whole month, the fact that you survived the physical attacks AND septic shock, AND you survived flatlining- George, you know how rare it is for people to survive once they flatline, even if the doctors do get their heart beating again."

"And you had it rougher than most others. Your body was weakened from the torture, and from being starved, and your organs had started to fail because of the septic shock. After you flatlined, you were just barely responsive enough to be considered 'unconscious' rather than 'comatose'. The odds were so against you- most people wouldn't have made it. Their bodies would have just shut down. But you still survived it."

He heard George inhale sharply, and he rubbed his back gently to take the hard edge off the words. "The fact that you survived- George, you're strong. So, so strong. Keyes's only reason for saying you aren't, was to try and make you hurt worse. But he's wrong about all of it. I know it's hard to believe me, after all that time being constantly tortured, constantly having your mind and body attacked… but you have to believe me," Elliot pleaded, a note of desperation entering his voice.

He felt a steady flow of tears falling off George's face and landing on his neck as George gasped and sobbed, face still hidden in Elliot's neck. Elliot desperately wished he could do something to help, besides rocking him back and forth, but no ideas came to him. He couldn't think of a single thing he could do to ease George's anguish. Elliot held him tighter and rocked back and forth, stroking his hair, making shushing noises every few seconds. "Shhh, you're okay…."

Several minutes later, George still hadn't calmed down at all, which worried Elliot- though he did understand why George couldn't be soothed. "I know you feel terrible, but you need to try and breathe. Just take deep breaths…" Elliot said softly.

"I al-alr-already t-told you, I-I can't j-just c-calm d-down!" George cried.

"Do you want me to call Rebecca and say that you need help?" Elliot offered gently. "Maybe she can give you some valium or something." He had already moved one arm and was reaching for the phone.

George shook his head silently in response. After a moment he managed to mutter, "V-valium doesn't w-work for PTSD. And I don't want to t-talk yet. I c-can't t-talk to anyone b-but you, a-and e-even when I c-can, I n-need you t-there."

Elliot was simultaneously touched and saddened by George's words. He liked the trust George placed in him, but he also wished George would trust others enough to talk to them.

Elliot knew that George needed to talk to Rebecca soon, but he trusted George to make the decision-although he was going to call her anyway, regardless of George's answer, if George entered another flashback.

He wrapped both arms around George again, stroking his back and continuing to rock back and forth. He gently kissed the top of his head, continuing to give physical comfort, since words didn't seem to help as much. He kept his own breathing slow and even, to encourage George to take deeper breaths.

What had they done to his George? What had they done that was so painful, so awful, that the memory alone left him completely shattered; crying, shaking, and struggling as he tried to grasp at reality?

Elliot took another deep breath and continued trying to help him, knowing that it was the only thing he could do at the moment.

"George, I know whatever you saw must have been absolutely terrifying and agonizing, but you need to calm down, or you're going to make yourself sick again, and that's the last thing you need right now. I don't want you to feel even worse- I love you, and I don't like seeing you like this. Relax, you're okay…" Elliot whispered, even though he knew that George wasn't okay. George wasn't okay, not at all, and his current breakdown was the undeniable proof of that.

"Oh, George… God, they hurt you so much…" Elliot whispered sadly, sympathetically. He tightened his hold on George and closed his eyes, rocking harder. He felt himself struggling as George broke down completely, broke down and cried harder than Elliot had seen him before.

He didn't want to believe it, but he had a feeling that the worst was yet to come.


	38. Chapter 38

It took a half hour for George to be able to stop crying. George almost made himself sick again, but the heartrending sobs eventually stopped, and Elliot was relieved. Elliot hated seeing George like this; George's despair was tearing at every string in his heart.

Once George stopped shaking, breathing less ragged, Elliot leaned forward. "Do you want to go home?" He whispered in George's ear. They still hadn't moved from their parking spot, a few blocks from the courthouse. Miraculously, no one had seen or heard them.

"N-no, I just want to sit here a minute," George said, wincing at the soreness in his throat. His throat was completely raw, as though someone had scraped it with a fingernail. His eyes stung, too; they were red and puffy from his tears. Elliot handed him a water bottle and he took a long drink, letting the water soothe his tight throat. Once he was done, he turned to Elliot. "I still want to try to go grocery shopping with you. I just need a while, if that's okay with you."

Elliot doubted George would be able to complete the task, but he didn't contradict him yet- there were much more important things to worry about. "Of course that's okay with me. God, I'm so sorry…" Elliot said sadly. "I can't imagine what this must be like for you…"

"You don't want to know," George said grimly, closing his eyes and pressing a hand to his chest.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Elliot asked softly.

George's voice cracked from strain, and he ended up just mouthing his answer. "No."

George swallowed visibly and stared at the dashboard, breathing shallowly. He winced and stroked his stomach- Elliot wasn't sure why, but he suspected it was related to the flashback.

Elliot held him tighter, desperate to convey the feelings of love and comfort that couldn't be expressed in words. George's body was drenched in sweat, but he didn't even think of moving. "George, you need to talk about it eventually. It had such an effect on you, and I know I'm hardly one to talk, because I always avoided talking in the past. But it'll be worse if you don't," Elliot said.

"I know." George took several deep breaths. "I know. You're right, of course. I just… I wish…" He closed his eyes in weariness- physical and mental. A tired shrug ended his statement.

"Take as long as you need, okay? I don't want you to have another breakdown and end up making yourself sick again," Elliot said worriedly. Elliot lifted George again, moving him to the passenger's seat. He understood that at this point, George would want his comfort, but from a distance. He kissed George's forehead before moving back, giving George plenty of space.

"The smell of cigarette smoke was the trigger," George began slowly. "It reminded me of a violent attack. Well, they all were violent, but this one was an attack on my mind too. I almost… I almost had forgotten just how bad it was, but `I definitely remember now." He shuddered.

"It was- I can't even guess how soon after I was taken, I lost my sense of time…" George rubbed his chest as he spoke, a habit he'd developed in the hospital. His face held a distant expression, especially because he refused to make eye contact.

"But anyway… It was at least a little later in the time they had me; I know that, because I was still arguing with them, and I did that until they got mad at me and were about to kill me. There were times when I felt more clearheaded, times when I felt stronger, and times when I didn't think I deserved it, and those times, I'd fight back… It was so stupid, because I knew it was risky, but I was arrogant."

"George, you aren't arrogant," Elliot said furiously.

"If you say so…" George muttered, shaking his head to accent his point. "Anyway, I was arguing, and they got furious with me… then they told me they might stop if I agreed with them. I said I deserved it, but then they said I had to tell them why. But I couldn't name a reason. That set them off, and they burned me- then they raped me again-"

He made an almost hysterical noise. "I couldn't talk when they ordered me to say I liked it and I wanted it. They set a hand on my throat, though, so I forced myself, even though I was hardly able to… I said I liked and wanted it."

Elliot sucked in a breath. George closed his eyes, shoulders slumping despondently. "They made me say it again, and they told me to say why, and I still couldn't… He told me he'd help me, and I thanked him- I actually thanked him, because I was so desperate to escape with my life… I repeated everything he said when he explained."

Elliot was having a difficult time listening to George's recount of what had happened. He knew he needed to listen, but it still disturbed him. George had been attacked psychologically, almost more than he had been physically. Broken bodies could heal- but minds were much more complicated. Elliot didn't even know if he had the ability to help George anymore. George hadn't told him it was that bad- but now that he knew…

How did George have any semblance of sanity left? How was he able to do anything, let alone a trial where he had to see his attackers every day? And before that, he'd gone alone, in the room, with Keyes- and that explained all the psychological tactics that Keyes had used. Suddenly Elliot realized that it hadn't just been a last-ditch effort from Keyes; it had been a much more deliberate psychological attack.

Elliot felt awed at George's resilience, and that increased his sadness and anger, because George shouldn't have had to endure so much. George's words, "Because that's my lot in life?" suddenly rang in his ears, and he agreed- though it wasn't fair. But that was what seemed to be happening to George, non-stop, and it wasn't right.

Elliot gently squeezed George's sides. "Of course you were desperate; you didn't want them to succeed. You're strong, and you refused to be broken, so you did what you had to, to stay alive. They've done a lot of damage, but- you're alive," Elliot said.

George didn't respond to Elliot's voice; he just continued his explanation as soon as he'd taken a few deep breaths. Elliot wasn't sure if George really registered that he was there, but he wasn't going to stop George from talking.

"I became frantic... They asked if I understood, and I said I did, because I honestly thought saying what they wanted to hear would satisfy them. But that made them even angrier, and they said they knew I was lying to them, and I became hysterical, so they burned me again, and made me lie on the burn..."

Elliot let out a shocked, distressed, furious shout at the words. They had- it made him sick. He clenched his hands into fists, but forced himself to continue to listen.

George shuddered heavily. "I realized my mistake, and I knew how close they were to losing their patience with me, and I still wanted to live, so I begged for my life, tried to convince them not to kill me…" George pressed his hand more firmly to his stomach, continuing to stroke the scarred burn through his shirt.

Tears formed in George's eyes again, and Elliot was about to tell him to stop, that George had said all he needed to know, but George continued speaking before he could. Elliot decided that letting George finish would probably be best, now that he had started- even though both of them were struggling.

"They pressed the knife against my jugular, and I was so terrified- I was sure that was it, and I was never going to see anyone I loved again… I resigned myself, but then they stopped and told me I had one more chance, but if I fought them again, it was over. They stabbed my shoulder, not deep enough to be lethal- as always- but enough to make me feel weak. And they burned me again... Elliot, they just about used me as an ashtray," George said painfully.

"But then they left, and I passed out soon after… I started agreeing with what they said, when they asked me to, and that's why I believe it now. That I deserve it, I mean. I believed them then- I hated them, and I was disgusted by them, and I didn't like what they were doing, but I became convinced that I deserve it. And now I can't change my mind… but- the whole reason I said that, and became convinced of it, was to persuade them to keep me alive, but it wasn't long at all before I wished they would just kill me. Honestly, I was about to beg for them to get it over with and kill me… But then I went into septic shock and they left me on the road…" George's voice was barely louder than a choked whisper by the time he finished explaining.

Shivers ran down Elliot's spine. "Good god…" Elliot said shakily. He wondered how George had held up this long; most victims would have caved long before this. Not to mention the fact that Elliot, even with all his years of experience as a sex crimes detective, was having a hard time just hearing the explanation, and George was the one who had actually experienced it. He wondered, briefly, if George had already broken, but was hiding it. But there wasn't anything he could do about that- though he wanted to fix it, desperately. He swallowed visibly.

"Can I… look again? The scars?" Elliot whispered. George shuddered, but nodded, lifting his shirt to let Elliot see. Elliot winced when he saw the grotesque marks. He remembered seeing George's injuries and being dismayed by the burns, along with everything else, and he'd wondered what had happened when they'd burned him. He wasn't sure if he preferred not having a story to go with the image.

Elliot's eyes became wet as he reached out and touched the dark, circular scars. He couldn't stop picturing what it must have been like- George crying out as he was raped, then becoming terrified from the way they burned him, and pleading for his life, Keyes and the others laughing at him and forcing him to lie on the second-degree burn…

A second degree burn without medication, or at least burn lotion, was bad enough, but they had burned him more and touched it constantly. That alone would have been hell, and then the added pain from the rapes, cuts, bruises- and then there was the mental anguish, the constant torment… the psychological attacks were just as bad as the physical ones.

After a long moment, he looked up at his lover. His George, his poor George, had been through so much hell. A wave of guilt came over him as he thought about how he had failed to find George- if he had found him sooner, George would have been okay. Certainly not intact, but he wouldn't be this much of a mess. "I'm so sorry, George. The NYPD failed you. I failed you. I should have been able to save you, but I didn't and now-" Elliot began.

"No one could have. It was unavoidable," George said sadly.

"We should have saved you," Elliot insisted. "You've spent your whole life saving everyone else; you would think we could have done the same for you when you needed us."

"I never saved anyone. I tried, but in the end, the only thing I did was set Keyes off and get him to seek revenge. And now all those people are dead and their families are torn apart," George said bitterly, shaking his head in disgust- disgust at himself. Elliot felt like he'd been kicked, like he had every time George castigated himself. George had said he hated himself the day Keyes had been caught, but he'd seemed to be getting better after that. But now he was backsliding again.

"George, that wasn't your fault! You had no way of knowing; Keyes and those other guys are absolutely nuts! They're sick, disgusting, sadistic freaks!" Elliot exclaimed indignantly. He clenched his fists- it wasn't right. George was such an amazing person, and he had been attacked so badly. And not only that, but his attackers had convinced him that he deserved it.

Those bastards had actually convinced George that he deserved to be tortured and raped every day. He swallowed against the bitter taste that formed in his mouth, shaking his head in disgust.

"What am I going to do?" Elliot asked silently.


	39. Chapter 39

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! It's nice to know what y'all think of this story. Y'know, with how much George abuse is in this story, I think I should declare a "National huggle George day" or something... Well, it makes for fun reading and writing, anyway. Maybe I'll have to be mean to Elliot sometime? Or I could keep writing stories where George is hurt, sick, in danger, or miserable for some reason or another... What do you guys think?

Anyways, here's the next chapter. *Huggles George, then runs away when Elliot pushes me aside to do it himself*

* * *

Elliot inhaled sharply. He knew how unhealthy George's self-castigation was, and he knew that he had to convince George otherwise. "George, you have to believe me. You're an amazing person."

George shook his head. "No, I'm not. Far from it. I was the one who treated Keyes, and that made him want revenge on me. And he killed the other victims to get that revenge, so it's my fault... And even if I don't blame myself, the families do."

"No they don't! They blame Keyes and the others, not you," Elliot corrected him. He realized, to his dismay, that he wouldn't be able to stop George from hating himself. He bit his lip, closing his eyes. George truly hated himself, and nothing Elliot said was going to change it- it would take months, maybe even years. He knew there had been times when George had hated himself since he'd been found, but it hadn't gotten to this level of bitter disgust and self-loathing before.

"For the sake of the conversation, I'll say you're right, but even so, they still wish it was their relative on the witness stand," George said painfully. "They wish I was the one in the morgue- and they're right to wish that… the others should be alive, not me."

"No, George, that isn't- that's not…" Elliot whispered, unsure of how to assuage him. Every hurt George was feeling was incredibly deep, and he couldn't think of a single thing that would help. He chose his words slowly, carefully, to offer as much comfort as he could. "No, that isn't right at all. And even if they do wish that their loved one had survived instead, I'm glad you were the one that survived. I would have been devastated if you hadn't; I never would have gotten over it."

"You and Nora are probably the only ones who think that," George muttered. Elliot knew that after what George had been through, he was convinced that most people absolutely despised him- his attackers did, and they had convinced George to hate himself, so it had to be hard to believe others didn't hate him too, unless they frequently showed George otherwise. Elliot supposed it was just short of miraculous that George even believed Elliot loved him.

His throat and chest constricted painfully. Every bit of this situation was so wrong. "Even so, we love you more than words can say. Even if Keyes and the others went to ridiculous lengths to hurt you, and even if you hate yourself, Nora cares about you. I care."

George didn't look convinced at all. "George, look at me," Elliot said. A shudder ran down George's back, and he shook his head. Elliot took in a sharp breath. He knew that George was trying to retreat, and while part of him wanted to let George be, he knew he had to talk to him. "George, please, look at me," Elliot said quietly. He set a hand on George's cheek, gently, to try to coax him. He needed George to look into his eyes and see the sincerity there.

George met his gaze, but only for a second; he looked down to avoid Elliot's gaze as soon as he could. Elliot could tell that George would try to avert eye contact whenever he could from now on. It hurt to see that, because it proved that any self-confidence George had was long gone.

Elliot cupped George's cheeks and forced George to meet his gaze. "George, I know you've been hurt, I know you've been through hell, but you are safe now. You have me, and I'm going to do whatever it takes to fix this. I'm going to make you feel loved again- because you are loved."

"I shouldn't be loved… I don't deserve anyone's love, let alone yours," George whispered hopelessly, hanging his head. "Keyes… the others... they were right about me. I'm pathetic, worthless, arrogant, and a terrible person."

"George…" Elliot was struggling. He wasn't sure anything he said would be enough anymore. Something had happened to George mentally, and he wasn't sure he would be able to fix it. "No, you aren't. None of that is true. If you were arrogant, you wouldn't have been able to survive this long in this line of work," he said.

"Or maybe I was just lucky," George muttered.

"Or maybe Keyes and the others are just sick, sadistic bastards," Elliot returned.

"Maybe both are true," George said. His voice was still quiet and unsure.

Elliot gave up on changing George's mind. He sucked in a breath before he reassured him. "George, I love you. You've always been there for me- even though I was an ass about it- and now I'm here for you. I'm going to show you that they're wrong, and I'm going to help you recover. You aren't going to be one of the people that can't move on, I promise. It'll be difficult, yes, but you'll get past all of this, including the PTSD."

George exhaled sharply. "Elliot, I haven't been improving at all. Physically, yes, but mentally, I'm worse, if anything. Which just proves how-"

"George. Don't go there," Elliot ordered, trying to be gentle, yet firm.

"But it's true-" George began, shaking his head. He tensed slightly as he spoke.

"What they said isn't true at all," Elliot corrected him.

"Prove it. What about me makes you think Keyes was wrong? What makes you think I'm not pathetic? What makes you think I can do this?" George asked, his voice harsh and filled with disdain.

"I know it seems hard, but you can get through it. Just hold on," Elliot murmured, stroking George's face.

"I can't- I don't deserve- I'm too path-" George shook his head, but then he nodded. "Okay. Yes," he breathed, reluctantly giving in. He was too tired to argue. "I'll try. But I'm not sure it'll be enough." He leaned into Elliot's touch, giving a small, despondent sigh.

"George, I am going to repeat this as often as it takes," Elliot said softly. "I. Love. You. You don't deserve what happened to you and it wasn't your fault. The people who did this to you are sadists, and they are going to go to jail for this- because what they did was WRONG. They took you, a beautiful person, and they did things to you that no one should have to go through. Let alone you." He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss to George's lips. George returned it, but it felt… detached. Elliot pulled away with a resigned sigh. He rested his chin on George's head, embracing him tightly.

"Do you want to get the groceries now?" Elliot asked, changing the subject. He could tell that at this point, forcing George to talk, or forcing him to listen, would do more harm than good. George needed to regroup, and he would be ready again later.

"Yeah," George said with a small nod, grateful that Elliot was giving him some time. In truth, he actually wanted to just go home and sleep, but he was once again convinced that what his attackers said was right. Even though he didn't want to, he believed them again- he didn't deserve to be happy.

Elliot sighed, stroking George's hair and gently kissing George's forehead. He looked over George's head, watching the scene outside. Everyone was just going about their business. There had been a lot of news coverage for the case, but when the trial wasn't in session, no one knew they were there. No one heard or saw them.

No one understood what George was going through. No one knew that George had been hurt so much, by so many people. No one knew that George was collapsing from strain, struggling to keep himself together because of the torture, and the constant re-experiencing of it. No one knew how unbearable George's suffering was.

None of the others understood George's situation. Elliot was the only one who did understand, and he was the only one who could help George.

Elliot was determined that George would recover, but he knew it would be almost impossible.


	40. Chapter 40

Eventually, Elliot started the car and turned on the radio. He decided to put George's favorite classical music CD on. It was a recording of the New York Philharmonic playing a piece by Tchaikovsky- Elliot kept forgetting to ask George what the name of the piece was. But whatever it was, it seemed to fit their mood perfectly. It started out slow and tragic-sounding, then there were desperate, frantic passages, and then happiness, and then desperation again at the end.

In Elliot's mind, it would just keep repeating that way for them, until, eventually, the happiness would win out, even though in the piece, the desperation seemed to win. He was determined that George would be okay- not perfect, but okay. George deserved to feel perfect, but okay was the best they could hope for, for now.

"Hey, doc, what's this one titled?" Elliot asked.

George almost smiled. Almost. "It's Tchaikovsky's 31st opus. It's called Slavonic March, but it's usually called by its French name, Marche Slav," he said softly.

"It's pretty," Elliot commented.

"Yeah, it's one of my favorites," George agreed. Elliot knew that George adored the piece, but, unsurprisingly, George didn't sound enthusiastic about it as he normally would- his voice was even quieter than usual. Elliot knew he was still shaken, but he didn't ask George if he wanted to go home; George would ask if he felt he needed to. But Elliot was worried, about too many things to name, and he didn't know how to address any one of them. He supposed he'd wait until their next therapy session.

They arrived at the store and Elliot parked the car. "Elliot?" George called, with a hint of hesitation. He sounded timid, and Elliot hated that- though he understood why.

"What, George?" he asked, keeping his voice as gentle as he possibly could.

"I'm sorry…. But now that we're here…" George trailed off nervously.

"You don't feel up to it?"

A slight nod answered him. Elliot sighed, wishing he could convince George that he didn't mind. "Will you be okay if I leave and you stay in the car?" Elliot asked.

George nodded, looking relieved as he realized that Elliot wasn't going to get angry at him. "Just leave the windows rolled up. Please."

"Okay, I will. I'll be back in a minute," Elliot said. He glanced over at George's small frame, and immediately decided that he didn't like what he saw- George looked small and afraid. Shaken.

Elliot leaned over and placed a feather-light kiss on the top of George's head, moving a hand to stroke George's cheek. He felt relieved when George leaned into his touch- it meant that George still trusted him. At this point, the smallest thing could undo any progress that had been made, and the fact that George trusted him was a good sign- one of the only ones he'd gotten today.

"I love you," Elliot whispered.

"You too," George replied. His voice was still so timid and vulnerable; though he trusted Elliot, he was clearly afraid of him, too. It would be a long time before George would feel relaxed around men again, even though George was a man, himself. It was a natural psychological response.

After a long moment, Elliot released George and left the car and did his shopping as quickly as he could. Elliot chose more fruits and vegetables than he usually would, knowing that George was still vitamin deficient because his attackers had nearly starved him. He shook his head, not wanting to think about it, and paid much more attention to weighing his items than was required.

Elliot soon finished the shopping and he returned to the car, relieved to find that George was- not okay, but he hadn't gotten worse. He shared a tight embrace with the smaller man before starting the car and driving home.

Elliot tried to carry all the groceries inside, but George insisted on helping. Elliot was secretly pleased, because it was something to reassure him that George wasn't completely helpless. And he needed to be reassured, after what he'd seen.

Once they had put the groceries away, George finally brought their conversation back to his mental state. "Elliot, I need to tell you something," George said.

"Yeah?" Elliot asked worriedly. He sat down on the sofa and patted the spot next to him.

George sat down beside him and gave a deep sigh. "I… I feel like I'm about to lose it," George admitted. "Not like a psychotic break or anything, I think, but still, I'm at my limit. I've been having one flashback a day, at least, but today... I had one when the ER doctor was talking, in addition to the one I had on the witness stand, though it wasn't as bad as the others, and none were as bad as the one I had in the car. But they were so jarring... I feel beleaguered, shaken, and, quite honestly, hopeless. Oh, you have no idea!…" George whispered. His voice was small and brittle.

Elliot didn't reply for a long minute. He had no clue what to say at this point. Finally he said, softly, "I'm so sorry… just hold on until our next appointment. In the meantime, is there anything I can do to help?"

George sighed again. "Not right now. Just what you've already been doing. I just wanted you to know, though, that I've been feeling so desperate and vulnerable. And… thank you. Elliot, you've done so much for me since this happened, and I can't put into words how much this means to me."

"You don't need to put it into words," Elliot told him. He pulled George into his lap, then leaned back so that they were lying down, George half on top of him. He softly kissed the top of George's head and stroked his back.

George reveled in the gentle touches, enjoying them, despite the voices of his attackers telling him that he didn't deserve it. He heard them so clearly- but at the moment, he was winning, and he blocked them out. Elliot was being so kind and loving to him, and he wanted to enjoy it, whether he deserved it or not. "You're so good to me," George whispered, sounding simultaneously pleased, awed, and guilty.

"I'll always be as good as I can to you. You need someone to be there for you," Elliot said softly.

The words brought George's doubts back. "But you shouldn't; I don't des- oh, never mind," George muttered, knowing that Elliot would tell him he was wrong.

Elliot was concerned that George was backsliding so rapidly. He knew that the only reason George had stopped was because he didn't want to hear Elliot argue that George did deserve to be taken care of- not because he didn't believe what his attackers said. Finally he sighed, silently pulling George closer, even though he wanted nothing more than to say just how wrong George's thoughts were- how wrong his attackers were, how wrong the whole situation was.

The room quickly became quiet, enough so that Elliot was worried about the possibility of it being a trigger. Elliot turned the TV on, making the volume loud enough to be audible but low enough to be only background noise.

"You amaze me, doc," Elliot said, after a long moment. If nothing else, he needed to make George aware of how amazing the fact that he had survived at all- let alone with his sanity- was.

George lowered his head and rested it against Elliot's shoulder. He wanted to contradict Elliot, but he didn't have the energy to listen to Elliot trying to convince him that he was someone special. He wasn't, and listening to Elliot say otherwise… He didn't have the energy. "Thanks. I love you, El," George said. He buried his face in Elliot's neck, breathing Elliot in. He kissed Elliot's throat, with the same tenderness Elliot was using with him.

"You too, George," Elliot said, placing another kiss to the top of George's head.

George was still on edge, but Elliot was helping him relax, as much as possible in his situation. He was afraid, but less than he would be without Elliot there. He closed his eyes as Elliot grabbed a blanket and covered them with it.

Elliot watched George carefully, and quickly gathered that George was still afraid and shaken. But he seemed to be relaxing, and he wasn't trying to isolate himself from Elliot. Elliot knew that George was still blaming and castigating himself, and George would need to work past it soon.

He was concerned about George, but he didn't press the issue- there would be time for that later, and George needed a break now.

No one else was going to give him one, Elliot thought bitterly.


	41. Chapter 41

Elliot was woken up in the middle of the night by George, who was thrashing in his sleep, causing him to almost become tangled in the blanket. George moved frantically and gave small sounds of terror, which quickly escalated to screams. Elliot froze for a moment, then he began to insistently shake George's shoulder.

As soon as he woke up, he wished he hadn't; the pain was unbearable. He cried out from the ever-present pain that racked his body, and from frustration and despair. Why did he keep dreaming about being with Elliot? It made everything much worse; thinking he was safe, only to end up here. When he dreamed about being with Elliot, he felt safe and content, but the instant he woke up, he was overwhelmed with agony, hunger, thirst, terror, despair...

One of the attackers began to thrust inside him, and George cried out, as usual. He tried to stay still, because he knew he would upset them- but it was incredibly difficult.

Finally, his attacker spilled into him and pulled out. But then another one pushed in, and George couldn't fight the impulse that demanded his escape. They reprimanded him severely, scratching viciously at one of his infected wounds, and then cutting them even deeper. He was in worse pain than he thought possible; he felt it pulsating through his body with each heartbeat, and he was sure he was going to die from the sheer agony. And a large part of him wanted to…

His attackers started using some new weapon while they continued thrusting into him. They pounded into him mercilessly, and as soon as one climaxed and pulled out, another pushed in. And there was so much blood- not enough to be lethal, the logical part of him knew. But still, he was covered in his own blood, some of it dried and some of it still wet. He almost wished he had lost more blood, so he would die from the blood loss.

He moaned feebly and closed his eyes, ready to fall back into darkness- and he wanted it to be forever, because the pain was so great that he didn't want to breathe anymore.

He felt a sharp kick at his side. "Look at us- unless you want us to kill you now," the attacker growled. George shut his eyes tighter once the words registered. Such a painful contrast; just a few times ago, he'd pleaded for them to keep him alive, but now, he would give anything for the opposite. But he didn't even have the energy to beg them…

"P-please…" he managed, in a choked whisper.

His attacker chuckled harshly and aimed another brutal, hard kick at George's side. "We know how much you want it. Just sit still for now." He made to walk away.

George made a desperate noise and groaned, but it was no use. His attacker left, and George stayed on the ground, sobbing and wishing that he could talk them into ending it. He wanted death, and though he knew it was inevitable, he was impatient.

He waited for darkness to claim him- either unconsciousness or sleep- but nothing came. He was in too much pain to sleep, but not pain enough to pass out.

And then, far too soon, his attackers returned again.

George woke up screaming. He looked around wildly until he caught sight of Elliot and froze, conflicted and terrified. He stood and started moving backwards.

"George, it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you," Elliot tried to assure him. "You're safe here."

"No- I know that, I do- but I just can't right now!" George stammered. He backed into a wall and tried to steady himself, breathing heavily and closing his eyes.

"Do you want me to leave you alone for a while?" Elliot asked softly.

A look of pained guilt presented itself on George's face as he nodded. He took several deep breaths. "I'm sorry, I just can't handle being with anyone right now… I'm so, so sorry, Elliot, but I really just- I can't-"

"Don't apologize; you aren't doing anything wrong. I'll be back in ten minutes, sooner if you need it," Elliot told him gently. He walked out and into the living room. He knew George wasn't actually afraid of him- it was just an aftereffect of whatever his nightmare had been- but he still felt slightly hurt. He didn't like George being afraid of him, whether he actually caused the fear or not.

George shivered as he leaned against the wall, trying to piece his emotions together. The only emotions he could feel were intense guilt, panic, and depression, while physically, he felt nauseated and- to his annoyance- tired. He gave a resigned sigh, lying back on the bed and letting his eyes close. He doubted he'd sleep for the rest of the night, however.

Elliot walked in several minutes later. George didn't feel up to talking to him, so he made it look like he'd fallen asleep again, keeping his breathing deep and even. After a moment, Elliot sat next to him and tenderly caressed his face.

"Just hang in there a while longer. Then we can get the hell out of here, for however long you want- forever, even, if that's what you need. I love you, George, and I'm sorry you've been hurt so deeply," Elliot whispered sadly.

He sounded close to tears, and that shocked George. Had Elliot been doing this every night while he was asleep? Had he been causing Elliot more grief than he knew? The thought only added to his turbulent emotions. George closed his eyes tighter, suppressing the tears that threatened to fall.

"Another nightmare? When will you be able to relax?" Elliot asked, sighing. He had apparently misread George's expression- not that George could fault him for it. But Elliot's next words, even though they were kind, overwhelmed him.

"They hurt you so much, but I think, I hope, I can help you heal. But you need to help me, to help you, because I'm not as good at this as you are… You're the one with the endless compassion I only wish I had… I just beat the shit out of people, all day, every day. Sometimes I help victims, but not when they've been hurt like this. Christ, if anyone did deserve what happened- and I'm not saying anyone does, but IF someone did- it still wouldn't be you," Elliot whispered. "You never did anything wrong; all you've done is help people. It shouldn't have been you that got hurt like this."

George felt Elliot's hands gently stroking his forehead and temples, and he could no longer stop the tears from falling, even though his eyes were closed.

"George, it'll be okay, they don't have you anymore. I failed you so badly before, but I'm here now." Elliot continued stroking his face as he spoke, trying to soothe him.

George wanted to scream, his emotions having intensified and overwhelmed him. Instead, he continued to stay still, even though he could feel himself crumbling. Elliot's words should have felt comforting and reassuring, but George was too upset to be soothed.

Elliot sighed deeply. "I love you, my George- more than you can know. One day, this will get better, and you won't blame yourself- it hurts so much when you do that, but one day it'll stop..," Elliot whispered, his voice cracking slightly. He kissed George's forehead and stood up. He left the room, and a minute later George heard the front door open and close. He didn't know where Elliot had gone, but he was almost thankful. He had passed his breaking point.

His mind screamed with an agony that almost radiated to his body. When he was being tortured, sleep had been a sufficient escape- but now sleep wasn't the haven it had been, and that only left two options for escape. And one of them was ruled out entirely; he wasn't even going to consider suicide. He didn't understand why, but Elliot obviously loved him, so he wasn't going to end it, because he owed Elliot that much. And that meant that his only option for escape was to render himself unconscious.

He walked to the kitchen with slow, calculated steps. He needed the escape, badly. He opened the cabinet, and pulled out a large sized bottle of alcohol. It was big enough to make a man of Elliot's size pleasantly buzzed. Someone his size, on the other hand, would be completely drunk.

As a psychiatrist, he knew he should know better than to self-medicate with alcohol, but he wasn't thinking like a psychiatrist anymore. The thought only added fuel to his anguish.

Then he tried, briefly, to talk himself out of it. He'd have a headache the next day- that thought made him snort with mirthless laughter. He'd dealt with headaches before, and this would be worth it. Although, there was other harm that would be done to his body- but again, it had happened before.

Then there was the fact that if he did this once, he would be tempted to again. But it was a one-time thing. Elliot certainly wouldn't buy any more, not after tonight.

Elliot. Elliot would be furious with him. He'd be hurt, too. But George couldn't bring himself to stop- he had been hurting for too long.

The argument that came closest to stopping him was the fact that he didn't deserve the escape. He could still hear the voices of his attackers, telling him how he deserved what they were doing to him… he tried to banish the sight and sound of his attackers from his mind, but it was a battle, each time. And right now, he didn't have the strength to talk them down. He didn't deserve the escape.

But still, he needed it. His attackers were still so clear in his mind. He needed to escape them- he needed to get away. George knew of a dozen reasons why he shouldn't be doing this, but he tossed every one of them aside. He didn't care anymore. He just wanted to stop the memories that haunted him.

No turning back now. He opened the bottle and drank as quickly as he could.

He walked to the bathroom, feeling an equal measure of eager anticipation and dismay as he waited for the alcohol to hit like a ton of bricks. He sat down in front of the toilet and leaned back against the opposite wall, breathing shallowly while he re-experienced the painful memories. Tears streamed down his face steadily, and his body quivered with his silent sobs.

_He knew, from the instant he was forced into the van- he wouldn't escape in one piece. He was sure it was going to end in death… He woke up in the room, and he was cut and burned, his pain arousing his attackers endlessly. The days swirled into one immense whirlwind of pain, humiliation, hunger, thirst, dread, and tears._

_Then he was on the side of the road, feeling crazy with his fevered state, breath coming in gasps, but he was only able to think about how he wanted to see Elliot one last time. And then he was flatlining, and eventually he opened his eyes and saw Elliot… Elliot had been his motivation, through it all…_

George swallowed and, mostly out of habit, rubbed his chest. Elliot loved him so much, but the emotion felt completely alien after the physical and mental assault the last few weeks had brought. Love and protection had only been in his dreams, while reality had been agony. They were reversed now, but he couldn't adjust that easily. It still felt impossible. There were times when he was sure he was going to wake up and find himself being tortured again. In his state, it was easier to believe the worst possibility, as much as he wanted to be sure he was safe.

And there was the fact that Keyes still didn't want him to survive. He'd wanted George to die eventually, but only after causing as much pain as possible. It had been awful, going into the interrogation room with Keyes… seeing his tormentor's face, feeling so afraid but knowing he had to stay so they wouldn't attack anyone else- and knowing Keyes could have killed him. The fact that Keyes hadn't succeeded was incidental.

The alcohol took effect suddenly, like he'd predicted, but no matter how much he'd braced himself, he wasn't quite prepared for it. The room swam in front of him, his stomach churned, and he reeled slightly. But he didn't care once he analyzed his emotions and found that they were finally gone. He finally felt numb, and he was convinced that that was as close to happiness as he could get.

His stomach emptied itself and he closed his eyes for a moment. Once the nausea abated, he stood up and stumbled towards the sofa. He was so unsteady on his feet, and his vision was so blurred by his tears, that it was amazing he didn't fall. He collapsed onto the sofa, taking in the blurred ceiling.

He reveled in the feeling of numbness for several minutes. Then his vision began to dim, and he gladly welcomed the darkness that engulfed him.


	42. Chapter 42

Elliot walked back into the apartment, feeling refreshed after having taken a walk- his mind felt calm and clear, some of the pure rage and sadness leaving him. He didn't even feel like he needed to hit something or someone, a very rare occurrence as of late. He went to the gym every so often, but it rarely brought the peace he felt right now.

George had moved to the sofa, Elliot noticed, but he didn't think too much of it. He stretched, walking towards the sofa.

He sucked in a breath as he noticed the dried tears on his lover's face. He reached down and gently wiped them away, giving a dejected sigh at the sight. Clearly George's nightmare had been terrible.

Elliot knelt in front of him and shook George's shoulder, wanting to wake him up and guide him to the bed. He had grown used to sleeping with George; his bed felt empty without him now. And he was relatively sure George felt the same.

Elliot was shocked when George didn't jolt awake the second he touched him, like he usually did. George stirred slightly after a moment, but it took much longer for him to respond than it usually did, and he fell right back asleep. Alarmed, Elliot leaned forward. And then he caught the unmistakable smell of alcohol.

George had abused alcohol to escape his problems. He had actually… "What the hell were you thinking?" He snapped at the sleeping man. "You could've talked to me!" The situation infuriated him. George could have hurt himself, and Elliot wouldn't have known until it was too late. Fuming, he lifted George and carried him to the bed.

Suddenly, his fury changed to sadness. George, being who he was, had to have been hurting deeply in order to use alcohol as an escape. He'd known George had been hurting, but he must have underestimated the extent of it-though that sounded impossible, because he'd already thought that what George was feeling was intensely painful.

He gently covered George with the blanket and leaned forward, kissing George's forehead and stroking his cheek comfortingly. He rested a hand against George's chest, just feeling his heartbeat- he had lost count of how many times he'd needed to reassure himself that George was still there. George's pulse was strong, he noted, and it still gave him relief to feel the proof that George had recovered. He couldn't forget, after all this time, the weak, thready pulse he'd felt when George had been found. But this one was reassuring. Elliot was soon assuaged- George was definitely intact, physically.

But it seemed that every time one issue was fixed, another one came to take its place. George had been taken, and Elliot had been desperate to find him. Then George had been found, but he had been in critical condition, and Elliot hadn't been able to do anything while he waited to see if George's body could survive the infection. And now George had recovered, but his mind was struggling with what had happened. George was trying to move on, but with the PTSD, he couldn't- he was trapped in his past.

Just how broken had George felt when he'd consumed the alcohol? The word repeated itself in Elliot's mind. Broken. It must have been unbearable, or George wouldn't have been so desperate to escape himself, if only for a little while.

How had he managed to fail George yet again? He let out a silent roar of frustration at the thought. Every time he tried to help, George ended up being hurt again. He'd failed to protect George when his attackers had taken him, and he'd failed to protect him just now. Even in his nightmares, he failed George. He still had nightmares- not as often as George did, but often. And he always dreamed the same thing; he was watching George being tortured, and he was powerless to stop it. He failed George every time, being unable to ease his pain.

And he didn't even want to think about what a difficult time George would have when the trial resumed a few days later. George would have to struggle through his statement yet again, and be accused of wanting it-

Was George even strong enough to finish the trial? George had said he wasn't, but Elliot had been convinced that it would work, if they were careful. Now he wasn't sure if George had enough left to do it. George wouldn't have to be at court for two days, so George could regroup, but he would have to appear again after that.

The trial was doing more harm than good, at this point, and it would until they got a conviction. George's barriers had been eroded, and the trial was making it worse- Elliot was worried. But George had to testify, either way… Even though it was upsetting him now.

He looked George over again. George looked exhausted, burdened, and anguished, which was fitting: he was all of those things, in addition to others. But it didn't sit well with Elliot, not at all. George deserved so much better that the hell he had been through. He didn't deserve to suffer like this, not only having had to go through a traumatic month of being physically and mentally tortured, but then constantly having to remember it… God, Elliot would have lost it, so long ago, but George was stronger, even while he was breaking down like this.

If there was anyone he hadn't expected to end up in this situation, Elliot mused, it was George. Certainly, he never thought any of them would end up being tortured and having to deal with the aftereffects, but George seemed the least likely of any of them. George was normally cool, calm and collected- the idea of George being reduced to this, constantly terrified and so vulnerable- it wasn't imaginable. But now it was reality…

Elliot lifted the blanket off of George and looked over his torso. He immediately found what he was looking for- the scar from the incident George had described earlier. He reached out and touched the darkened skin, cringing. Elliot hated the sight; scars didn't suit George's normally innocent look at all.

He had never wanted revenge against anyone as much as he did against Keyes and the others, for destroying George like this. The physical scars were terrible, and the mental ones were just as bad, even though they couldn't be seen.

He almost cried when he saw the scars marring George's body. The bruises had healed, which helped to lessen the impact somewhat, but even without them, there were still countless physical reminders. George's legs and torso were covered with cuts, and the scarring was worse because they had gotten infected. And where there weren't cuts, there were the burns- some were from a lighter, and some were from a cigarette. There were too many visible marks.

He shuddered, running his hand over George's stomach. Keyes must have dragged the cigarette over George's stomach with the intention of causing as much damage as possible. There would have been an intense red burn, and it had probably blistered. Then it would have darkened as it scarred, and with no medicine- it would have been hell. The burn alone must have been agonizing, but then they'd made George lie on it. And there were so many other injuries they had inflicted on his poor George…

"Is there anything those bastards DIDN'T do to you?" Elliot asked sadly. "The rapes, the cutting and burning, the bruises, and what they did to you mentally!-" He shook his head in dismay. "I'm not even sure which is worse; what they did physically or what they did mentally. The psychological scars are so much harder to heal. And I have no idea how to fix those; I'm no psychiatrist. But I think I'm helping..."

Suddenly unsure, he leaned forward and placed an awkwardly-aimed kiss to George's scarred stomach, then moved back. "I'm not saying I approve of what you did, but I can see why. At least there won't be any nightmares tonight… Hardly a comfort, I know, but small favors, I guess. I'll watch over you, okay?"

He got no response, but he wasn't expecting one. He pulled George into his arms, pressing George close enough to him so that he could feel every rise and fall of George's chest. George always breathed so much deeper when he was asleep, Elliot noted with a soft sigh.

With the knowledge that George needed him, it took several hours before Elliot managed to convince himself that George would be okay if he slept. He eventually pressed a light kiss to the top of George's head and closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift off.


	43. Chapter 43

George woke up late in the afternoon and immediately felt the full effects from the previous night. His head pounded, his stomach churned, and his hearing was far too sensitive.

Elliot wasn't in the bedroom, he noted with a frown. He stood and stretched, deciding to take a shower.

He was nervous; he suspected that Elliot was mad at him. He had slept, for the first time since he'd been found, without nightmares- no dreams of any kind, actually. Just a calm, dark void. And he didn't deserve a peaceful sleep. He didn't even deserve to be here.

But he was getting some of what he deserved- now reality felt a little sharper, a little more… real, and thus even more painful than it had been before, so he figured it would make up for last night. Elliot would decide, he guessed- no. He shook his head, blinking confusedly. What was wrong with him? Elliot wasn't anything like the men who had attacked him. Elliot would never even think about hurting him.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea overwhelmed him. He leaned over the toilet and vomited, clenching his stomach and closing his eyes. It took several minutes for his stomach to empty.

He shivered, remembering the relentless flashbacks and panic attacks the previous day had brought. The flashbacks were getting harder to control every time, and the mere thought was now enough to trigger another one.

_The burns were agony. George couldn't contain his agonized wails any longer. His screams of anguish caused even more burning pain, this time in his already raw throat._

_"Please, please stop- it hurts, please don't-" George pleaded, almost hyperventilating as pain and fear overwhelmed him. "Please, please, I can't do this- I can't, I need-"_

_His attacker didn't respond, instead opting to raise the cigarette again. "It's always about you, isn't it?" he snarled._

_George let out a tiny squeak of surprise and fear. "What do you mean- what did I do this time? What did I do to deserve this?" He'd never even done anything to them. He couldn't think of anything he'd done that would explain why they hated him so. He knew that there were sick people out there, but he couldn't accept it. There HAD to be an explanation, had to be some sort of psycopathy he could analyze._

_"You can't even figure it out on your own! You're too arrogant to even admit how flawed you are. If you're willing to just think you're so fucking smart, then you're arrogant and wrong!" The attacker grinded the cigarette furiously, searing George's skin. George screamed again, but it only made him laugh viciously._

_The man took his belt off, and a loud crack filled the room as he smacked George with it. George whimpered as it made contact with the raw, abused skin on his back and buttocks. "Please, please just let me go…" George pleaded._

_"You don't deserve it," he said. "You don't deserve anything but this."_

_George knew he was still screaming with every blow, but he dissociated enough so that his mind could drift to Elliot. Elliot would save him, he really would. George knew he would._

_But he didn't think he would come soon enough._

George jolted and looked around the bathroom, inhaling deeply as he tried to steady himself. He was safe. He wasn't there anymore; he was in Elliot's apartment. But did that mean he was safe? Elliot was almost certainly furious with him.

He eventually managed to calm himself down, but he was still shaking. He stepped into the shower and turned the water to a lukewarm temperature- he hadn't been able to tolerate cold ever since he'd been taken, and the last thing he needed was to have yet another flashback.

He cleared his thoughts as he showered, preparing himself for his conversation with Elliot. He also tried to figure out why he was now convinced that Elliot was going to hurt him. He knew the flashbacks had shaken him, but that was no excuse to become paranoid…

He grabbed a razor and some shaving cream, and realized, with a sickening sensation in his stomach, that he wanted, he needed, to cut himself. He fought against the sensation, but it was oh-so hard. He had to use every bit of willpower available to him, like how he'd had to get his attacker's voices out of his head. He could no longer do the latter, but he might be able to avoid hurting himself for a while.

Once he'd scrubbed his skin raw again- no matter what he did, no matter what Rebecca or Elliot told him, he couldn't stop the dirty feeling and the need to get clean even though that could only happen when he made his skin bleed- he stepped out and walked to the kitchen. Elliot was at the table, sitting with two mugs of coffee, and he silently handed one to George as he sat down. George was unsure of how to go about starting the conversation. After a moment he simply muttered, "Hey."

Elliot looked simultaneously hurt, sympathetic, and cautious- but, surprisingly, not angry, which confused George slightly. Elliot should be angry with him. Maybe he was just trying to get George to let his guard down?

Then he gave an inward sigh and told himself, once again, that Elliot wasn't going to hurt him. Why was he so afraid of him, even though he knew Elliot wouldn't hurt him?

"Hey," Elliot replied, distracting George from his conflicted thoughts.

George swallowed visibly. "I suppose you… noticed, then."

"Yeah, I did. Why did you do that?" Elliot asked. His voice had the same array of emotions as his face. George sighed and looked at the coffee mug to avert Elliot's gaze. He took a minute to respond.

"I just couldn't cope- I couldn't deal with it a second longer. I was hurting too much," George explained, feeling afraid as he spoke. Surely Elliot would become angry that he had escaped the pain he deserved. He didn't want to upset Elliot, but lying would make him angrier.

"You could've come to me," Elliot whispered.

"I know. But I needed it to stop; I was desperate. I know I should have just dealt with it, but…" George rubbed his neck uncomfortably. It looked like Elliot wasn't going to get angry at him after all. And now George was extremely annoyed with himself for not trusting Elliot in the first place. He just wanted to calm down- he didn't want to let the PTSD get any worse.

"You aren't thinking of-" Elliot began worriedly.

"No- well. Yes and no. I'll be honest; I do feel like I want to die, as much, if not more, than I've wanted to since I was found... But I'm not going to act on it. That's why I used alcohol instead of something deadly. But it still- it still hurts," George admitted. Now that he knew he was safe, he didn't mind talking about his thoughts.

"I shouldn't have left you alone. I should have talked to you first to make sure you weren't struggling," Elliot said sadly. "You told me you were close to the edge, but I didn't think…"

"You didn't do anything wrong. You had no way of knowing I would do anything, because you thought I was asleep," George said, confused that Elliot was blaming himself. Didn't he see that it was all George's fault? George kept telling himself that no one was going to hurt him, but one thing he refused to believe was that everything that had happened to him wasn't his fault.

Elliot blinked. "You weren't?" he asked amazedly.

"No," George said simply.

"So what I said…" Realization dawned on Elliot.

George nodded slowly. "I just… I broke down. I was feeling so overwhelmed from the flashbacks and the nightmare, and then you were there, and even though everything you said was comforting, I felt guilty- not as much as I should, but a lot…"

"You shouldn't feel any amount of guilt… I'm sorry," Elliot muttered.

"No, don't be. It's my-"

"If it isn't my fault, it isn't yours either," Elliot asserted. "This is NOT your fault."

George exhaled loudly, not quite a sigh, but close. "I suppose. But, I should regret having retreated like that, having taken so many risks with my physical and mental health, having tossed aside everything I know as a psychiatrist. I should feel guilty, like I'd done something wrong. And I do regret it, somewhat, but not for the reason you'd think… I also think I would do it again if given the chance."

The confessions startled Elliot. "But you don't want to hurt yourself?" he asked, needing to hear George say 'no' again. He had to hear it as often as possible.

"No." George barely managed to avoid saying, "Not yet, anyway." He sighed and added, "But I don't want to feel anymore. I don't even want to think." He closed his eyes in weariness as he spoke.

"All victims go through a time when they can't-" Elliot began.

"I know," George interjected. "It doesn't make it any easier, though."

"No, it doesn't, but it's normal. And you'll get through this," Elliot said.

"You think so?" George asked quietly. Elliot couldn't tell if George was truly disbelieving, or if he was just asking for affirmation.

"I really do. You're tough enough, doc," Elliot said softly.

Silence reigned for a little while. Elliot took a careful look at George and asked, "Do you want anything to eat? You haven't eaten since yesterday."

George shook his head. "No, I'm not hungry," he said firmly.

"You have to eat something," Elliot insisted. "After what happened yesterday, you don't have anything left in your stomach, and you've barely been eating lately."

"I really don't want to," George protested.

Elliot was concerned about George; he was worried about the message George's sudden mental collapse was sending. Between the flashbacks and panic attacks and nightmares, he could hardly have called George okay before, but with the alcohol abuse and refusal to eat, he was positively alarmed. "Will you eat eventually?" Elliot pressed.

"Sure," George muttered. They both knew that, in truth, George didn't care one way or the other.

George stood up and walked to the bedroom, Elliot following behind him.

Elliot watched George carefully over the next few hours. He observed George's body language and became dismayed when he realized the message his body was sending: George was growing severely depressed, if he wasn't already. He wondered briefly if George had been depressed for a while, but had been hiding his feelings. Or, Elliot thought, maybe George himself hadn't noticed them until he was past his breaking point.

His suspicion of George's depression was confirmed when Elliot laid behind George on the bed and rubbed his back, like he had the night George had left the hospital. George didn't react anything like he had that night. Not a sigh of pleasure, nothing- except for a flinch. George still thought that anyone could attack him at any moment, even Elliot. That hurt.

George tolerated his presence, but he didn't seem to be enjoying it. His body was almost limp, as though he was overcompensating for the moment he'd tensed. "George?" Elliot began softly.

"Mm." It was an almost inaudible hum.

Elliot knew the answer, but he still asked, "Do you want to talk?"

George didn't even bother with words. He just gave a slight shake of his head and rolled onto his stomach, slumping against the pillows despondently.

Elliot made an abortive gesture to get George to meet his gaze, but he thought better of it. He embraced George tightly. "George, I know giving up probably seems like it would better than what you're feeling, but you will be better off, and you'll recover sooner, if you don't shut down. Please don't give up."

George turned around and set his head on Elliot's shoulder. He didn't return Elliot's embrace; he just rested his head against him. "I can't do this anymore. It hurts. I can't- I can't deal with it anymore," George whispered.

"George, at least if you keep trying, you can heal," Elliot argued. He kissed the top of George's head gently. "You've been through hell. I know that it must be difficult for you, but you can't give up."

"What's the point?" George asked, desperately.

"The people who care about you don't want to see you do this to yourself," Elliot began. "I don't want to lose you mentally, any more than I want to lose you physically- not at all, in other words."

George mulled things over for a moment. Elliot could tell that his thoughts were conflicted. "I'll try," George pledged half-heartedly.

"It will get better," Elliot promised.

"I suppose," George said with a sigh. He turned away.

"George, I love you. Please just hang in there," Elliot said urgently.

"Okay. I love you too," George said quietly. "And I'll try."

Elliot couldn't tell if George really was trying not to give up, or if he was just pretending for Elliot's sake. Either way, something drastic needed to happen for George's backslide to stop and his recovery to start again.


	44. Chapter 44

What was happening to him?

George glanced down at himself as he showered for the third time in twenty-four hours. He had gotten the dirty feeling that had plagued him under control, but now it was back again in full force. The feeling that all the showers in the world wouldn't get him clean pervaded him as strongly as ever, as did everything else. The self-blame, the flashbacks, panic attacks, and nightmares, the exaggerated startle reflex, the agoraphobia, the inability to trust anyone around him… He had moved past a lot of it, at first; the agoraphobia and some of the self-blame had mostly vanished.

And then he'd had the flashback.

He couldn't understand why that one thing was affecting him so strongly, and there wasn't anything he was able to do to stop it. He was even more traumatized now than he had been right after he'd been found; at first, he had at least been able to trust Elliot, but now he couldn't trust anyone at all.

He rubbed the soap over his body again, almost viciously, still trying to get clean even though he knew it would do no good. A small dribble of blood began to roll down his arm.

And the sight of his own blood was enough to send his mind back _there._

_George whimpered and curled into himself as he felt the blood pouring out from between his legs. All but one of his attackers had raped him, one after the other, and he was in so much pain that he could hardly breathe. It hurt every sinew in his body just to expand his chest._

_This had been the longest torture session yet. He'd been gang-raped, burned, cut, whipped, stomped and punched and kicked- in fact, he wondered how he was still alive, because there should have been internal injuries from all the assaults. But he supposed that they'd held back just enough to prevent it._

_He tensed as the remaining attacker flipped him over, this time so that he was looking at the ceiling. He couldn't do this again; he was in too much pain. He closed his eyes, trying to pretend he was somewhere- anywhere- else._

_He could almost feel Elliot's gentle arms wrapping around him…_

_Elliot was looking for him. Elliot cared. He knew it was true, and it was his only drive not to infuriate his attackers until they killed him. But he'd hold on, and then Elliot would find him and take him home-_

_His attackers jolted him back to the present. Two of them moved behind him and pulled him upwards, to his knees._

_The world tipped and spun around him- he'd lost too much blood for him to be able to handle the change in position so suddenly. His vision grayed, then faded to black, and his entire body went limp, his head lolling alarmingly. He fought frantically against the void of unconsciousness, the inviting feeling of unawareness that threatened to engulf him. He needed to be alert now, more than ever- but he couldn't move his body. He was fainting._

_They shook him violently. "Pass out, and we will make sure you regret it. Got it?"_

_George fought to open his eyelids. "I-I'm t-try-trying!" he choked. What they were asking him was impossible. Even though he had no sense of time anymore, he knew it had been at least a few days since he'd eaten. And the pain he was in, and the fatigue- he couldn't stay awake-_

_"You deserve… regret it…" he vaguely heard them say. He struggled against the inevitable for as long as he could, but was all for naught. He slumped forward, unconscious._

_He woke up when he felt the skin on the sole of his foot burning. He yelped and jerked, kicking his foot reflexively to stop his attackers. They growled and snapped, "What did we tell you about fighting back?"_

_"I-" he gave a squeak of fear. "Please, I-I can't, I tried not to-"_

_They backhanded him brutally hard, making stars appear in his vision. His vision swam so violently that he was sure he was going to fall right back into darkness. But he clawed his way to the surface, knowing that it would only get worse if he disobeyed them again. "I'm s-sorry," he whispered desperately. "Please, please believe me…"_

_"Shut up," the leader hissed. He pulled George to his knees again, the he lowered his pants. George tried to shy away, but the knife was once again pressed against his jugular vein._

_Pictures of the man he cared for, the man he wanted and needed to save him, flashed through his mind. "Elliot," he whimpered, wishing that Elliot could hear him._

_"He isn't coming," the attacker snarled. "Why would anyone try to rescue YOU, when there are much better people out there who actually DESERVE to be saved?"_

_George swallowed hard, knowing that the man was right. He deserved this, and no one was going to disagree. Even if they did, they were wrong. "You're right," he whispered hopelessly, lowering his head._

_"About what?" The attacker demanded, taunting him. Rubbing salt in his wounds, like always._

_"Me," George said. He tried to keep himself from crying, because they'd hurt him badly the last time he had, but he didn't entirely succeed. He kept his voice steady, but the tears still streamed down his face. "You're right about me. I deserve all of this, I'm a terrible person. No one's going to bother to save me- I'm not worth the effort."_

_Chuckling softly, the man burned George's kneecaps, relishing his hiss of pain, and pulled him upwards, making him sit on the new burns. George tried to shift his weight, but his attacker reacted by kicking him between his legs. George gasped and almost fell over, but he found himself being pinned in place by the other men._

_His attacker finished undressing, and he pressed his erection against George's face. George knew immediately what he wanted, and he clenched his teeth, preventing his attacker from accessing his mouth._

_But then one of them stepped forward and punched him right over his left eye, and George cried out in pain. He tried to protect his face with his hands, but they pinned him in place. The leader took the opportunity to thrust into George's mouth._

_George tried to squirm, but he one of his attackers held the knife up to his neck. He whimpered and forced himself to go limp, letting the man go deeper inside his burning throat._

_The oral rape was as bad, if not worse, than the anal penetration. He gagged, choked and gasped, hardly able to breathe. He took a quick gasp of air every time his attacker pulled out, but then the air was knocked back out of his lungs a second later._

_His throat was on fire by the time the man finally spilled into him. George coughed out most of the fluid, barely aware of anything but the burning pain radiating through his entire body. His hands were finally free, and he raised one to hold his throat, and the other to the spot that would turn into a black eye soon; probably in a few hours._

_The dizziness, which had abated after he lost consciousness, was back again in full force. He moaned weakly, and it sounded even worse than usual because of how hoarse his voice was. He wished they would give him some water, but he knew they weren't done yet._

_"You think we're done, don't you! But you passed out when we told you not to!" One of his attackers roared. "We told you-"_

_"I'm sorry," George rasped, hand still massaging his throat. "I tried not to, I-"_

_"Don't you dare interrupt us!" The leader spat. "You never learn, do you?"_

_George swallowed painfully and looked at the floor, not wanting to see the blows that he knew were coming. A second later, they pushed him to the ground and burned the soles of his feet again._

_They grabbed the knife, and George no longer needed any more prompting than that. "I deserve this," he whispered hoarsely. "No one's going to bother saving a worthless, pathetic person like me. Especially not Elliot…"_

_A vicious slice against his back, and George screamed in pain. Desperately trying to convince them to leave him alone, even if only for a little while, he wailed, "I deserve it! I understand, you don't need to convince me anymore! I deserve it! I'm worthless and pathetic and arrogant and a terrible person!"_

_"If you truly understood, you wouldn't be asking us to stop! You'd just accept that you deserve it!" The leader snapped._

_Once again, George's world dissolved in a whirlwind of pain; he lost track of time, his thoughts. He didn't register whether he was the one who was screaming, or if he was just hearing someone else, from a distance._

Elliot sighed softly as he heard George entering yet another flashback. He had seen so many people go through PTSD, but George was worse than most of the victims Elliot had seen. If George didn't have the worst case of PTSD Elliot had ever seen, he still came close.

Elliot started sprinting towards the upstairs bathroom when he heard a loud wail of pain and fear coming from the shower. He felt a wave of nausea come over him as he listened to George pleading with his attackers.

As he ran, he gritted his teeth and wished every terrible thing he could think of on the bastards who had done this to his George, who had taken everything from his and still took more, who had convinced George that he was a terrible and unlovable person.

He wanted to make all of them pay for ruining George's life like this.

But once again, he bottled his rage up, not caring about anything or anyone but George.


	45. Chapter 45

Elliot barreled into the bathroom, panting for breath, and immediately rushed to the shower, where George was.

He turned the water off before grabbing George and lifting him out. George had made himself bleed by scrubbing his skin so hard. "Oh, George…" Elliot murmured in dismay.

He lifted George's shaking frame out of the shower. George was having trouble breathing, and Elliot could tell exactly what he was remembering: being orally sodomized.

"Shhh, George, you're okay," Elliot whispered, gently rubbing George's back. "They don't have you anymore, baby, it's okay." Calling George by anything besides his name shocked him, but, Elliot decided, it felt right. He loved George, and it felt natural to call him by an endearing name. Not to mention that fact that the terms of endearment could help to comfort George. "Come on, you're okay…" Elliot said, continuing to rub George's back and shoulders.

"I deserve it! I understand, you don't need to convince me anymore! I deserve it! I'm worthless and pathetic and arrogant and a terrible person!" George cried frantically. His breathing was harsh from the terrible pain his attackers were inflicting on him. He was still shaking violently, tears were streaming down his face, and he was squirming desperately in an attempt to escape.

"Shhh, they can't hurt you anymore. They're gone, it's just us," Elliot murmured, swallowing hard and closing his eyes. Every time he saw George in a flashback, he felt like he was going to vomit. He hated the men who had done this more and more every day.

Finally, after what felt like hours, George's muscles began to relax, and his breathing evened out. "El?" George croaked as he escaped the flashback. "I- they don't have me anymore?"

"No, they don't, baby; it's just us. Shhh, it's okay, just calm down a minute," Elliot whispered gently.

George shifted awkwardly, and it took Elliot a moment to realize that George was still afraid. He scooted back slightly, deciding to give George some space, but his arms stayed securely wrapped around George. Neither of them really registered that George was naked.

George's body began to shake again, but with tears this time. "I can't do this anymore, Elliot!" George sobbed. "I can't stand thinking I deserve it one second, and realizing how stupid it is, but not being able to stop thinking it because every time I come close, I remember it and become convinced again! I can't stand spending more time THERE than I do here! I can't stand feeling like everyone is going to attack me at any moment, and I deserve to be attacked! I don't want to think I'm a terrible person!"

"George, I'm sorry," Elliot said. He hugged George gently, wondering how much more George would have to go through before he recovered. "I love you, George, and I promise, this will get better. Just hold on, and we'll talk to Rebecca tomorrow. She'll figure out how to convince you that they're wrong, and how to make you feel safe enough to realize that no one's going to attack you again."

"Elliot…" George bit his lip, debating on whether to tell Elliot about his new fears and thoughts. Finally he shook his head and simply said, "I can't do this anymore."

"Don't give up," Elliot urged. "George, you mean so much to me. I don't want to see you sink into a hopeless depression or let the PTSD overwhelm you. I want you to recover."

George wanted to tell Elliot that it was too late to stop the depression and PTSD from overwhelming him, and that Elliot shouldn't want him to recover in the first place. Instead he said, "Elliot, I'm trying, I'm really trying, but I just… I can't…"

"I know you feel like you can't, but George, you're the strongest person I know. You may think you're too weak, but that's what Keyes wanted. You're much stronger than he thinks, and if there's a single person on the planet who can get through this, it's you," Elliot said.

Elliot knew it wasn't going to be easy, but he truly believed the words; he had never met someone as strong and resilient as George. Anyone else, including himself, would have caved a long time ago; if not right after being found, after being attacked by Keyes in interrogation. But George, even though he was backsliding and struggling, was still the bravest person Elliot knew. Elliot just wished that he could make George see that. He wished he could make George see that not everyone hated him, and that he and Nora wanted George to recover.

"I'm not, Elliot," George whispered brokenly. "If I was, it wouldn't have taken me so long to see that Keyes was right about me."

Elliot tilted George's chin up, forcing him to meet his gaze even though he knew it was uncomfortable for him. "George, look at me. Not a single word Keyes said about you was right at all." Elliot doubted he would be able to convince George, but he still wanted to, more than anything. "I love you more than anyone on the planet, and if what Keyes said about was true, I wouldn't. I don't like bad people. I don't like arrogant, stupid, weak, pathetic people, either. You aren't any of those things."

"I thought I was such a good profiler," George said. His voice was rough, brittle. "I thought I was one of the best profilers in the FBI. I'm not. If I was, I would have been able to figure out that _I _was Keyes's target all along. I would have been able to figure out that it was my fault that he killed the others. But I was so fucking arrogant that I couldn't, and all the others paid the price. He wouldn't have killed anyone if it wasn't for me. This is all my fault." He gave a bitter laugh. "The bigger they are, the harder they fall, huh? Only I was never big in the first place. I just _thought_ I was."

"No, George, that isn't true," Elliot said, swallowing hard. He could hardly believe George was berating himself so much- it wasn't like him at all. It just proved how ruthless George's attackers had been in their pursuit to make George hate himself. "I know I'm not going to be able to convince you yet, but one day, whether in a week, a month, a year, or ten, you will believe me. I will undo all the damage Keyes did, and I WILL make sure that bastard gets life in prison."

"I should be the one in prison," George whispered, shoulders slumping. "I should have been able to tell that he was still dangerous. If I was as good a psychiatrist as I made everyone think I was, I wouldn't have made such a stupid mistake." He dug his nails into his palm angrily. "And I deserve for everyone to hate me, because of that. You and Nora shouldn't care at all, and everyone else is right for hating me."

Elliot forced himself to take a deep breath, to keep the rage at Keyes and the desire to cry for George at bay. "I will never stop caring for you, George. I'm going to say it again; Keyes is a sick bastard who deserves to be locked up. YOU-" He grasped George's shoulder, firmly, but not enough to scare him- "Are a sweet, amazing person who got caught in the crossfire and deserves for everything to be okay. You deserve to be loved and cherished, and you ARE the FBI's best profiler. You aren't arrogant, you aren't weak or pathetic or worthless. You were confident, but never arrogant, before this."

Elliot waited for George to say _something._ But George stayed silent, looking at the wall and shaking his head, as though attempting to come up with an argument.

"I know I SHOULD say I believe you," George spoke finally. His voice was so meek and timid that Elliot could barely hear him. "I trust you more than anyone else, and if anyone can convince me, it should be you. But right now, no one can."

Elliot opened and closed his mouth, wanting to say something- anything. But no words came. Finally, he exhaled sharply and stood, walking to the closet and grabbing a towel that he handed to George. He blinked rapidly, trying to force away tears.

George looked down at himself as Elliot handed him the towel, embarrassed to see that he was naked. He didn't like anyone being able to see his scars; they proved how weak and pathetic he truly was. If he was strong like Elliot said he was, he would have been able to take a lot more pain, and he wouldn't have gotten septic shock from an infected cut.

"I love you," Elliot murmured again, embracing George tightly. He rested his chin on George's forehead. "More than anything. And one day, if it's the last thing I do, I will make you see that that's true, and that you deserve to be loved."

George rested his head over Elliot's heart, listening to the thundering beats. He could hear Keyes and the others saying that he didn't deserve to be taken care of in this way, but he didn't think he had the willpower to pull away from Elliot, either. He didn't feel completely safe, but he felt safer with Elliot than he did without him, and he didn't think he could give the security up along with his self-image. "I love you, Elliot," George whispered shakily. "I-I haven't done anything to deserve it, and m-my attackers would tell me that you don't care at all, or they'd hurt me to balance it out, but-"

Elliot silenced him with a gentle kiss. George swallowed nervously at the contact, but returned the kiss and closed his eyes. He broke the kiss and rested his head on Elliot's shoulder, and the tears that he had tried to suppress fell freely onto Elliot's neck.

Elliot tenderly lift him and carried him to the bedroom. He set George down and crawled in next to him, holding him, letting George relax slightly.

"One day…" George trailed off, swallowing in an attempt to get rid of the lump in his throat. "One day, I'm going to be as good to you as you are to me. I won't be a terrible person or a burden anymore. I'll stop proving Keyes right."

"Everything Keyes said was completely wrong to begin with. You will never be a burden or a terrible person, and you already are as good to me as I am to you," Elliot said. "You're already the best lover I could ever want. You don't need to do anything, except get better. I hate seeing you in so much pain, but I'm going to do as much as it takes, for however long it takes, to fix it."

George looked downwards, clearly doubtful that anything Elliot did would help or change his mind. But then a look Elliot couldn't identify passed over George's face, and he nodded. "Okay," George said quietly. "Okay."

"Okay," Elliot agreed, in a soft whisper. He brushed George's cheek with his hand, kissing him softly. He coaxed George into relaxing, shushing him and stroking his back until George finally stopped tensing and subconsciously trying to distance himself from Elliot's body. Even if he was still afraid, George was at least relaxed.

They stayed in the embrace for several hours, before the day's mental exhaustion overwhelmed them both. Elliot shifted them both again, letting George lie half on top of him, ear over his heart, while he rested his chin on George's head and tightened his hold on George's shoulders. He kissed the top of George's head before pulling the blanket over both of them.

Without another word, George and Elliot fell asleep in each other's arms, sorrow, pain, and exhaustion etched on their faces.


	46. Chapter 46

Elliot's heart threatened to beat out of his chest as he ran towards the cabin, gun drawn. They'd finally found the place where George was being held- now Elliot could save him. 

He felt a wave of nausea overcome him at the sounds he heard. Someone was raping George, and enjoying it- the man was groaning delightedly. The others were laughing at George's agonized moans, wails, and whimpers. 

Elliot swallowed hard and hurried, but he couldn't move fast enough. 

"Tell us-" One of the attackers began. 

"I deserve what you're doing to me. I'm arrogant, pathetic, and worthless. I'm a terrible person; I deserve this," George interrupted immediately. His voice was so hollow, emotionless except for pain and depression. But even worse was that he sounded like he truly believed it. God, what had they done to him? This was much worse than what they had done to the previous victims. 

"You'll be punished for that! How dare you interrupt us?" One of the attackers spat. 

"AHHHHHH!" George's agonized, terrified, strangled scream, and the silence that followed immediately after, caused cold panic to grip Elliot's stomach like an iron fist. 

"NYPD! Don't move!" Elliot yelled as he finally reached the door. The perpetrators held their arms up in surrender. Elliot looked down and gasped in shock at the sight that greeted him.

They'd stabbed George right through the center of his chest- which wasn't rising and falling anymore. George wasn't breathing… And his eyes were dilated, half-open and unseeing… 

"No…" Elliot whispered desperately. He was too late. They'd killed George, and George had been alone and in so much pain… he would never even know that Elliot had come to save him. He'd probably died thinking that they'd given up on him.

Elliot had failed him. He hadn't been able to help him, and now George had been killed… 

Olivia, Fin, Munch, and Captain Cragen arrived a minute later, and they immediately handcuffed the perpetrators, leaving Elliot alone. 

Elliot stayed frozen in shock. Then his body started working again, and he walked slowly towards George's limp form. 

He took his coat off and covered George's lower body with it, then picked him up and cradled George to his chest. "No, not him!" Elliot sobbed helplessly. He'd failed George so badly… "George, I'm so sorry!" 

"George! No, not him!" Elliot shouted as he awoke. He panted for breath, struggling to calm down. George jolted awake with a gasp and looked over at Elliot. George wrapped his arms around him tightly- clearly George had also had a nightmare.

"Are you okay?" George asked softly.

"Yeah. I just had a nightmare. Are you okay?" Elliot replied, returning the embrace shakily.

"Yeah. What was your nightmare about?" George asked. It went without saying that George's nightmare was about being back with his captors, so he didn't tell Elliot first.

Elliot hesitated; he didn't want to scare George. Finally he admitted, "I saw you there. But I couldn't save you in time."

"Oh," George said quietly. An odd expression appeared on his face as he said, "That must have been… upsetting."

"It really was. I hate the thought of you being in pain, let alone killed… I love you," Elliot said softly, kissing George's forehead.

"You too," George replied.

After a moment, he glanced at the clock. "You have to leave for work soon," George noted.

Elliot gave a sigh. "I don't want to leave you alone here, but I have to get to the precinct."

"I know you can't just take off work forever. I'm okay physically; I'll be fine," George said reassuringly.

"I know you will be; I just worry about you anyway," Elliot said. It was the truth; he was terrified at the idea of George having another flashback and not having him to help him out of it. Or what if George couldn't cope without Elliot to confide in, and he got drunk again? Elliot didn't want to say either of those concerns to George, but he just didn't feel safe leaving George alone anymore

"I worry about you, too," George admitted.

"Me? Why are you worried about me?" Elliot asked confusedly.

"You haven't gotten to vent your anger yet," George said worriedly. "I know that you're angry at them, and you can't just bottle it up." He paused, knowing there was something else he was worried about with Elliot, but also knowing he couldn't say it out loud.

Elliot knew that George was right about his anger management problems, but he didn't feel comfortable talking about them. George's situation was so much worse; Elliot should be able to deal with this one his own. "I know. Anyway, I'm going to get breakfast started, okay?"

George set a hand on his shoulder. "Um, actually… if you'd like, I could do that, while you get ready," he offered, almost shyly.

Elliot gave a small grin. "Can you cook?"

"I think so," George replied. He didn't smile, but he did turn his lips slightly upwards.

"Alright. Thanks, doc," Elliot said. He kissed George softly before walking to take a shower.

After spending a while relaxing under the hot water, Elliot stepped out and got dressed. He came out to find George cooking some eggs, and he smiled at the sight. He stood behind George, wrapping his arms around his waist.

George jumped and let out a terrified shout, almost knocking the pan over as his arm jerked. "Don't scare me like that, Elliot!" George cried. He pressed a hand to his chest and took several deep breaths. "I can't breathe… it's another panic attack," he said, closing his eyes. His hands trembled violently.

Elliot stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him. He made sure his arms were loose, to avoid making George feel crowded and overwhelmed. He rubbed George's back slowly and murmured soothingly in his ear.

George gradually calmed down, breathing more evenly and relaxed. Elliot continued to calm him down, knowing, after weeks of experience, what worked best.

After a few minutes, George sighed and broke away. "I have panic attacks so easily now… The first few times, it took a lot more than you sneaking up on me to trigger one."

The words made Elliot feel terrible, even though George clearly wasn't mad at him. "I'm so sorry about that!" he exclaimed, rubbing his forehead to vent his frustration. "I work with victims all day; you'd think I'd know better than to touch you without warning you first! Are you okay now, though?"

George nodded and looked downwards, a blush appearing on his face. "Yeah. The panicky feeling went away quicker than usual… I'm really embarrassed now, though."

"Don't be," Elliot said automatically.

"I know, I know," George sighed. "I just can't help it."

Elliot gently pushed at George's shoulder. "I'll finish cooking this. You sit down," he offered, wanting to make his mistake up to George.

"I'll just stand with you, if that's okay," George said, hesitantly.

Elliot frowned confusedly at George's hesitation. "Why wouldn't it be okay?" he asked.

George opened his mouth, but then he concluded that any explanation he gave would be too long and exhausting. He didn't want to explain his new fear that Elliot would lash out at him, like his attackers had, if he didn't do everything Elliot said. He knew it was completely irrational, and it irritated him enough without Elliot trying to reassure him. "No reason…" he muttered.

Elliot sighed, but decided to let the subject drop. He prodded the eggs with the spatula, and, noting that they were thoroughly cooked, grabbed the plates and forks. He handed George a set as he prepared his own plate.

George tried to take a small portion, not having any appetite at all, but Elliot shook his head and filled the plate more. "You need to eat more than that. You're still underweight," he said, looking George over. Before he could stop himself, he added, "Exactly how long did they go without letting you eat?"

George winced slightly, but he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths as he answered. "I know it wasn't too often- but I really didn't think about it until it got overwhelming, because everything else was so painful. That's why I was surprised in the hospital- I knew they were starving me, but I didn't really register the implications. Anyway… I was only allowed to eat when I was about to faint, and even then, I had to tell them that I didn't deserve food, and they always attacked me afterwards to punish me for taking things I didn't deserve."

George swallowed hard, trying not to let the memories overwhelm him. "All in all, I was allowed water 15 times, and I ate…" He paused, searching his memory for each time he had eaten. It was easy to remember, because it had been such a rare occurrence. "I ate six times. I think they might have given me more food if I had agreed with them more, but I went between thinking they were right and thinking they weren't-"

Elliot cut him off, fury welling up in his body as George's words registered with him. "They made you wait until you were about to pass out and you told them you didn't deserve food? And they attacked you after you ate?" It shouldn't have surprised him, after everything he'd heard, but it did. Every time he turned around, he found out about something else that absolutely sickened him.

George flinched in reaction to Elliot's rage, but then he nodded. "Yes."

"You said they let you eat six times. They had you for a month. So that's once every five days…. Those fucking…" Elliot snarled, clenching his hands into fists. "Those goddamned bastards are going to-"

He stopped himself, taking several deep breaths. Blind rage wouldn't accomplish anything other than upsetting George. "George, that's so wrong…" he said, sadness and protective anger entering his voice in equal amounts

George didn't reply. He looked uncomfortable and he started idly turning his fork over his plate, to occupy himself. He hadn't taken a bite if his food yet.

"Let's talk about this later," Elliot said. He didn't want to upset George and make him nauseated.

"I'm not hungry," George muttered. "I'm sorry."

"WHY are you apologizing?" Elliot demanded. He noted the way George tensed at his raised voice. He took a minute to calm himself down. "George, it's alright. Relax, okay? If you aren't hungry now, fine- but promise me you'll eat later. At this rate, you're going to lose all the weight you've gained since you've been back. You've only eaten a little the last few days.

"Because constantly reliving what happened when I was tortured makes me more than a little nauseated," George said defensively.

"George, I'm not mad at you. You don't need to defend yourself... What's going on?" Elliot asked worriedly. "You're even more on edge than usual. Was it the panic attack?" Elliot looked George over carefully as he spoke, hoping to see the answer in George's body language. But he didn't look like he was still panicky; he just looked upset.

"No, I just... it's nothing," George said.

Elliot sighed and squeezed George's hand reassuringly. George tensed for a moment before squeezing back, confusing Elliot further. George had never flinched at his movements before unless they were sudden or fast, and this was neither. "George, you know I love you, right? And you know that you have no reason to be afraid here? I mean, I know you startle easily, but you shouldn't be truly afraid."

George nodded and then sighed, standing up. "Of course I do… like you said, I'm feeling edgy. And I love you too; I just- I- Oh, never mind." George sighed again. "I love you." He turned and made to walk out of the room.

"George, wait!" Elliot exclaimed. He stood up and walked towards George. "George, please. I have time to listen. Can you tell me what's wrong?" His concern was clear in his eyes. He knew that something was wrong; he just didn't know what.

"I don't even know what's wrong," George said. He was lying- he knew exactly what was wrong. But he couldn't tell Elliot.

"Was it when I reminded you of what happened?" Elliot asked sadly.

"No. It wasn't, Elliot. It was my nightmare," George said, still lying. He felt guilty about it, but Elliot would understand later.

"Oh. Well, let's talk about it when I get home, okay?" Elliot offered.

"Alright. See you," George replied. He leaned forward and embraced Elliot.

Elliot couldn't stop himself from thinking that something was wrong. Something about George's body language and his speech, and the way George was embracing him, was off. He couldn't label precisely what it was, but something was definitely amiss. "George, are you absolutely sure you're okay?" Elliot asked worriedly. "Please, just tell me if you're not."

"I'm sure; I'm just tired. I'm going to sleep, in a few minutes," George said softly, choosing his words carefully. The last two statements were the truth- but not in the way he was implying. He took a sharp breath.

"Well… okay. But call me if you need me, okay?" Elliot requested.

"Okay, I will. Love you," George murmured.

"I love you too. See you soon," Elliot said softly. He kissed the top of George's head and sighed softly before pulling away and walking out the door.


	47. Chapter 47

George walked back into the living room, thoughts racing. He'd considered everything carefully over the last few hours, and he'd come to a conclusion. The day before, he had told Elliot that he wanted to die, but he wouldn't kill himself, and at the moment, it had been the truth… but that was no longer the case. He couldn't handle it anymore.

He had tried to talk himself out of it, but he couldn't find a strong enough reason not to. Elliot wasn't even the biggest reason he had not to commit suicide. He loved Elliot, and he felt intensely guilty for deciding to do this, but the thing that had come closest to stopping him was what Keyes had said.

He'd become convinced that Keyes and the others were right about everything, absolutely everything, they'd said to him, and that included the times they'd said that he didn't deserve the peace of death. He didn't deserve to live, either- he just deserved pain, physical and emotional, and nothing else. But he was too weak to put up with it; he needed to escape.

He was going to finish what Keyes had started. Keyes had wanted him dead, and he was going to get his wish, months after the fact.

But first, he had to set some things straight. He picked the phone up and called Nora, hoping that, by some miracle, she would have today off and would answer. He had to talk to her one last time.

"Hello?" Nora greeted, after three rings.

George breathed a sigh of relief. "Nora, it's me," he said.

"Hey, George," Nora said, sounding relieved to talk to him again. She paused for a minute; George knew that she was trying to be delicate about asking how he was. "How are you holding up?"

"… I could be better," he admitted. "Are you- are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer, but time off is really hard to find… I'm trying to arrange some time to come see you, though," Nora said. "I want to be close to you; I want to help you through this."

George closed his eyes in weariness. "That would be nice. This has been really…" He trailed off, conflicted between wanting to convince Nora that nothing was wrong and wanting to tell the truth.

"The trial's been hard, huh?" she asked knowingly.

"Yeah. And I've been struggling with PTSD. I- Nora, I get panic attacks so easily, and the slightest trigger can send me into a flashback," George said painfully. Part of him didn't want to let Nora know, but the other part of him wanted to vent his frustrations. "I'm still _there_. I can just be doing whatever, and if there's a loud noise or a fast movement, or someone touches me without warning, or if someone says something wrong, or if I smell cigarette smoke, or ANYTHING, I'm right back there being tortured."

"I'm so sorry, George," Nora said sadly. "I haven't had to deal with PTSD, but I know it's truly awful."

"It is… just imagine the scariest moments of your life. Now imagine having to relive those every time something scares you. If something startles you, or if something happens that reminds you of it too much- a sound, a smell, a person, an emotion, anything. And then that sets you off, and you see what happened again. Not just a memory; it truly feels like it's happening again, exactly the same way it happened before," George told her.

Nora sniffled slightly. "I wish I was there to help you. I just… it's so overwhelming. I can't stand the idea of you being hurt. You're my little brother; I'm supposed to protect you," she said tearfully. She took a deep breath. "I talked to our mother and father… I didn't tell them any specifics, but I told them that you were hurt, and-"

"Let me guess; they said they don't care," George said. His voice wasn't even acidic; he just sounded hurt. He didn't even bother getting angry at others anymore- all of his anger was reserved for himself.

"George, I know it's no excuse, but they are very traditional. But I think that, if you show up at their doorstep, and tell them what happened, they'll come around… we almost lost you, but none of us knew. You were missing for a month, but for all I knew, you were just busy. I think this could be a wake-up call for them- it could show them that life is too short to cut people off over stuff like this. They don't approve of homosexuality, and they have the right to their opinion, but them disowning you is ridiculous, and this could show them that," Nora said.

"I know. I just… I don't feel up to it. It's going to take so much energy, and I'm at my limit already," George told her. "Between the nightmares and the panic attacks, and the trial… I'm using all of my mental energy just trying to manage the PTSD."

"I'll help as much as I can," Nora offered. "I mean, I know there's nothing on the planet that'll magically make it better, but it'll be better than nothing, right?"

George almost smiled. "Thank you, Nora," he murmured appreciatively. "Having people supporting me makes a huge difference."

Nora paused for a moment. "Listen, I have to get going in a minute. But George, please, please hang in there. As soon as I can, I'm going to come up there again. It looks like Elliot is taking good care of you, but if you need more people to vent to, try to reach me- even if it's just a text or an email. I'll always listen to you, and I'll always be there for you," Nora promised.

George's eyes became wet. He knew Nora would be upset once she found out about him committing suicide, but even that couldn't convince him. "Thank you, Nora. You have no idea how much that means to me- I…" He paused, trying to decide what to say. He had decided never to tell her any specifics of the tactics his attackers had used, but he needed to explain some of what they'd done to him mentally.

"When I was being tortured, my attackers weren't just hurting me physically," he said, voice dropping almost to a whisper. "They convinced me that I-" He swallowed. "They convinced me that everyone hates me, that I'm unlovable and I deserve for everyone to hate me. They convinced me that I deserve to be tortured, because I'm not a good person," he confessed.

"Oh, George," Nora murmured. George could hear her tears through the phone. "You're my only brother. I will always love you, more than you can know. Whatever they told you, it isn't true. You don't deserve any of-"

George shook his head as he listened. He knew Nora loved him, but what his attackers said was still true. He may have been loved by Elliot and Nora, but everyone else _hated_ him- and with good reason. Even _he _didn't like himself, and he had compassion for almost everyone. If he couldn't do it for himself, it proved that they were right about him. He just wondered why he hadn't realized it sooner.

He sighed softly. "Nora, I just want to say… thank you. You're an amazing sister, and I love you. I also… I need to ask you a favor." He bit his lip. "If you get upset about this, or anything that might happen later, will you talk to someone? If you can't talk to me, will you talk to someone else? I know this must be upsetting for you."

"It is," Nora admitted. "I have been trying to talk about it, but it's been hard."

"Just try," George said softly. "I don't want you to be upset." He knew that Nora was upset about what had happened to him, and would be even more so when she got the call from Elliot. He knew she would be upset regardless of what he told her, but he still didn't want her to waste the emotions on him, so he wanted to prepare her as much as possible so the impact would be minimized. Eventually she'd realize that she was better off without him. Elliot would, too, but it would take time for them to realize it.

"George, anything I may be feeling is nothing compared to what you're feeling. Don't worry about me," Nora said.

He wouldn't be here long enough to worry about himself anymore- he had to worry about Nora. He exhaled sharply and said, "I love you, Nora. I'm lucky to have you as my sister."

"You too, George. And I'm lucky to have you as my brother," she said.

They hung up, and George sat in silence for a long moment. Nora loved him, and she'd be devastated by this… but he couldn't take it anymore. He wanted out.

He just hoped Elliot and Nora wouldn't be too depressed about this. They shouldn't care about him at all, but they did, for some reason George couldn't understand, and they'd be depressed by his death. But they were the only ones who thought like that, and eventually they'd realize they were better off without him. They'd get over it eventually.

He was afraid of dying. More specifically, he was afraid of what might or might not happen after death. He had narrowed it down to two options- either there was nothing, or there was heaven and hell, and he would almost certainly end up in hell if one existed. But even that was a much better option than this. Surely hell wasn't worse than the one he'd experienced.

George finally felt steady enough to proceed. He stood and walked through the house- before he killed himself, he had to make sure Nora and Elliot would understand.


	48. Chapter 48

George walked to the bedroom and searched through Elliot's desk. He retrieved a pen and paper and sat down, frowning. He knew that, with what he was about to do, he had to leave a note… but he couldn't think of anything to say.

But he had to try. He frowned as he turned the pen over in his hands. As a psychiatrist, he knew that suicide notes could add to the turmoil loved ones felt, but so could the lack of a note. He just had to do it carefully, and make sure he told Elliot and Nora it wasn't their fault.

"Well, I have time," he muttered to himself. He wrote slowly, thinking about what he wanted to say.

_Elliot and Nora-_

_I don't really know what to say. I never thought I would do this, but… that was before, and now there just isn't any other way. I managed to hold on while I was being tortured, and for a long time after that. But I can't take it anymore. It isn't really that I want death, I just want… not to feel or think, and death is the only way that will happen._

_I can't take the memories anymore, and I can't take my conflicted thoughts. I know, logically, that I don't deserve what happened, but they convinced me that I do. And it's becoming harder and harder to talk myself out of it, when I even think I should talk myself out of it. I spend most of my waking hours telling myself that I deserve it, and it's very rare that I even have a reason to tell myself I don't. And all my thoughts are conflicting like that. I'm always either thinking about self-destructive things, or talking myself out of them._

_Right now, I'm trying to decide whether what I'm doing is a selfish act, or a favor to everyone who knows me… and I know that it's the former, but again, it's hard to feel that way. And it's absolutely maddening, trying to convince myself. But- well, it doesn't matter. Even if I feel like it's a favor, you'll end up thinking it's not._

_Anyway, another thing that I've been struggling with is the PTSD. I've been a psychiatrist for so long, and I know that it's possible that I can recover from it… but the healing process will take too long. The flashbacks and nightmares and panic attacks are so overwhelming, and I truly can't take it anymore._

_There came a point, when I was being tortured, that I lost any desire to live. I regained some of my desire in the first few days I recovered… but now it's gone again. I hurt too much and I'm too tired to work through the difficult psychotherapy sessions. I know I sound selfish and weak… but… I just can't bring myself to try anymore._

_Elliot, I can't put into words how much you mean to me, and how grateful I am to you. You were there for me faithfully, from when you came to me when I was found on the side of the road, to when you were getting my statement, to the trial. I love you so much, and I'm sorry I lied to you when I said I was okay this morning. Yesterday, I told you that I wouldn't hurt myself, and it was the truth then… but late last night, I realized it just wasn't working. I don't want you to feel guilty- there wasn't anything you could have done. I love you._

_Nora, I love you, and I'm sorry that you had to know what happened when I was being tortured. You've always been an amazing big sister to me, and I'm sorry that this is my way of repaying you, but believe me when I say I tried everything, and this is the only way. Please tell our parents some things for me… I'm not sure whether they'd want to hear what happened, but I think they should know. Also, please tell them that I love them, and I'm sorry we never got to rebuild our relationship. I would have liked to; we had a lot of issues, but I still love them._

_I hope you two can forgive me for what I'm doing. I can't put into words how much I love you, and how sorry I am for doing this. If there was another way, I would have done it. I don't want any of you to blame yourselves; nothing, no one, could have stopped this._

_Again, I'm sorry, and I love you. I can't say that enough._

_-George_

George paused, reading over his note. Then he glanced at the clock, startled to find that it had already been nearly an hour and a half since Elliot had left.

He spent a moment thinking carefully, making sure he hadn't left any loose ends. Once he was sure, he stood and walked to the bedside drawers, to retrieve the gun Elliot had always kept around, in case he needed to defend himself but couldn't get to his service weapon.

George felt guilty about using Elliot's gun, but he had no idea where his FBI-issue glock was. He'd left it in his office in the NYPD building, and for all he knew, the FBI could have taken it again while he'd been tortured. Maybe they'd given it to some new agent, or maybe they still had it, and were planning to give it back to him when he returned. But the latter wouldn't happen.

His badge, he remembered, had been destroyed by his attackers- or, at least, that's what they'd told him. They said that they'd burned his clothes, along with the possessions he'd been carrying- wallet, ID, and his badge. It felt like they'd destroyed a part of him by burning his ID and badge, but he hadn't worried much about it at the time, because he hadn't had a chance to.

Like everything else that bothered him about his attack, he'd only had time to let it sink in when he'd left the hospital. He'd been struggling to survive when he'd been taken, and he'd still had to fight for his life in the hospital, his body overwhelmed by infection and ready to shut down at any moment. He'd been too weak to do anything except for trying to will his heart to keep beating- even though he'd wanted to die, there'd been part of him that had wanted to live.

And once it was clear that he was going to survive, he'd still been too weak and tired to process it; he'd been so tired that he barely had any interest in anything but sleeping. He hadn't been strong enough for it to really sink in, until recently.

He was tired now, but it was a different sort of fatigue. It was mental, more than anything, and it bothered him as much, if not more, than the physical fatigue that had plagued him when he'd been recovering. That wouldn't last long, though…

George's heart hammered in anticipation. He reached into the bedside drawer, retrieving Elliot's gun and pressing it to the center of his chest, directly over his heart.


	49. Chapter 49

Elliot stayed deep in thought as he drove towards the 16th precinct. He was worried about George, but he couldn't figure out what was wrong. He finally concluded that George must have just had a worse nightmare than usual. He sighed in frustration. When would George get a break? No one deserved to go through what George had, and then being bombarded with nightmares and flashbacks…

He shook his head sadly, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. He wished he could stay home and help George instead of working; he hated that he had to leave George every day. But he needed to keep a steady income. George's salary as a forensic psychiatrist was large, and he had a lot saved, but they both agreed that it was better not to use it if they could afford not to, in case it took a long time for George to be able to work again. That way, George wouldn't feel quite as guilty about it as he would have otherwise.

He sighed softly, thinking about his family. He hadn't talked to Kathy since a few days since he'd introduced her to George, and he hadn't talked to his kids in a few days. He was struggling to work it out; George still felt too intimidated to have Elliot's kids in the apartment with him, but he didn't do well when Elliot left.

He didn't see his kids nearly as much as he wanted to, but they understood; one advantage of his job and how he and Kathy had raised them was that they understood the unique needs victims had. They were still adjusting to him being with another man, but they were taking it better than Elliot had thought they would.

Elliot parked the car at the 16th precinct. He walked into the building and started to look over the case files. There were quite a few cases, and he was slightly behind on them all.

Olivia walked up to him quickly. "We finally got the guy who committed the rape and murder at Hudson University last month," Olivia said.

Elliot nodded. They had suspected the boyfriend at first, but the DNA hadn't matched. Finally they had traced it to an ex-boyfriend from five years before. "About time we caught him… I assume I'm interrogating him?" Elliot asked.

Olivia nodded. "He's ready when you are."

Elliot walked into the interrogation room and leaned against the wall. He glared at the perpetrator sitting at the table.

Before he could begin, the perpetrator started speaking. "I understand my rights and I waive them. I did it." A gut-twisting grin appeared on his face. "At least I didn't do to her, what those guys on the news did. I just did it quick, but those other guys drew it out with the men they killed. And then the one who survived…" He gave a cruel laugh. "The bitch should consider herself lucky that she isn't as weak as that guy who survived."

Elliot immediately knew who he was referring to. George's case had gotten quite a bit of media coverage, because the circumstances were unusual- a group of men, torturing and raping other men, and all but one had been murdered. Elliot understood why the case would be interesting, but he still hated the fact that others could see George when he was so vulnerable. So while it didn't surprise him that this scumbag knew about it, it did infuriate him and make his blood boil. "What did you say?" Elliot growled, his voice low and laced with agitation.

"Don't ya remember that case from the news? There was that FBI profiler who was tortured." The man gave another sick grin.

Elliot clenched his fists, and he snapped when the man laughed again. This man was actually mocking George, laughing at him, as well as the victim from Hudson… He lunged at the perpetrator, before he even realized that he had stood, and slammed him into a wall. "You think it's funny, that they took the FBI's best profiler and tortured him? Do you really think torturing someone and almost killing them is funny?" he yelled, wrapping his hands around the man's throat. "Do you think it's FUNNY?"

Cragen and Olivia came running into the room. They pulled Elliot away from the man, but Elliot broke away and went back.

"Elliot, stop!" Olivia said, grabbing his shoulder.

"I'm going to show him that attacking someone isn't funny," Elliot snarled. "I'll make him regret joking about it!" He stepped over the man again, who had fallen to the ground. He kicked him, hard, before pulling him up. "Hurting others is funny, right? So why aren't you laughing now?"

He looked into the man's face, but he didn't see the same perpetrator he was interrogating. The man's face morphed, and suddenly, he was looking at Eric Keyes.

His anger intensified into blind, murderous rage. "You bastard, I am going to kill you!" Elliot roared. He squeezed the man's throat as hard as he could.

"Elliot, one more move and IAB will have your badge. Get off him," Cragen said. He pulled at Elliot's arm, but Elliot didn't respond to him. "ELLIOT! GET OFF!" Cragen shouted.

Elliot finally released his grip. "Looks like this is your lucky day, which is a pity for the rest of the world," Elliot hissed. He shoved the perpetrator back against the wall and walked out of the room.

Cragen stopped him just outside of the door. "My office. Now."

Elliot ripped his arm away, glaring at Cragen in disgust, and made to walk in the opposite direction.

"Detective! That's an order!" Cragen snapped.

Elliot spun around to face him. He was shaking with fury. "What, Captain?"

Cragen sighed. "What happened to Huang is really affecting you," he stated.

"And it isn't affecting you?" Elliot asked heatedly.

"It bothers me, Elliot. But do you really think Huang wants you to snap at any suspect that's available?" Cragen asked.

"I think George prefers to be called by his first name," Elliot snapped. "But to answer your question, I don't think he does, but I really don't care anymore. That bastard deserves it for hurting George-" He cut himself off, realizing what he'd said.

Cragen began speaking before he could explain himself. "But he didn't hurt George, Elliot. He said nasty things, but he didn't hurt him," Cragen said.

Elliot took a deep breath, deciding to try and end the conversation. "Well, if that's all you wanted to say, I'm just going to finish some paperwork," he said evasively.

"No you won't," Cragen said, coming to a decision. "I want you evaluated by a department psychiatrist-"

Elliot interrupted him angrily. "I'm not talking to them! Why can't I talk to Hendricks?"

"Because I want you to talk to someone who isn't used to your outbursts," Cragen informed him. "Also, until you talk to one of them and they clear you, you're on leave."

"I wouldn't have lost it if it wasn't for you!" Elliot said angrily.

"How is this my fault, Elliot?" Cragen asked, shaking his head. "How do you figure that?"

"I wouldn't have lost it if you hadn't let George talk to Keyes!" Elliot yelled.

Cragen shook his head again, slowly. "Elliot. For one, that had nothing to do with today. Also, if you're still mad at me for that, you need to just grow up and get over it. It happened. It wasn't enough, but still, we all did everything we could to prevent it. And I'm sorry George was attacked, but letting Keyes talk to him was the only option, and George knew that was true. And if George doesn't resent me for it, I don't see why you should."

"You know why he doesn't resent you, Captain?" Elliot asked, eyes blazing. "He doesn't resent you because he thinks all of it is his fault! He blames HIMSELF for it!"

"Elliot, I'm sorry," Cragen said. "I know that must be rough for you- I don't like the idea of George blaming himself either. But really, George doesn't want you to lose it. Has he had any kind of therapy since this happened?"

"Of course. We both see Rebecca Hendricks once a week. George had been getting better, but…" Elliot trailed off and sighed, shaking his head. "Never mind."

"Elliot, you need to get this all off your chest," Cragen said, gentle and concerned now. "If you don't talk to me, just promise me you'll talk to Rebecca at your next session. And I still want you to talk to one of our psychiatrists."

Elliot nodded, reluctantly giving in. "I will talk to Rebecca, and I'll talk to a department psychiatrist sometime in the future. Captain, I'm sorry that I snapped… I just… well, I snapped. I lost control, and I'm working on it… but I have a lot of baggage."

He gave a smile, devoid of any happiness. "Normally, I would be snapping at George right now, because he's usually the one who would talk to me after something like this. I'd yell at him and be an ass, but he'd be here anyway and he'd always save my ass when I got in trouble. Now he needs me, and I'm trying, but I'm failing miserably."

Elliot wanted to say exactly how close he and George were, but he wasn't ready yet. He inhaled sharply and said, "They totally broke him, captain. And the trial has just made it worse. He's even worse mentally now than he was in the hospital. I'm trying to help him. I'm trying so hard, but I'm not sure if anything or anyone can help him anymore. But… if anyone can, it's me, but I don't think I'm good enough. I've failed him so many times, both before and after this happened…" He trailed off, swallowing painfully against the lump in his throat.

Before Cragen could reply, Elliot walked away as quickly as he could. He retrieved his things, then walked to his car.

He gave a sigh as he glanced at the clock- he'd only been gone an hour and fifteen minutes. By the time he got home, it would only have been an hour and a half.

He reflected on the last few days as he drove. He had known that he was struggling with everything that had happened, but he had truly thought his anger was under control. Even though what the perpetrator had said was horrible, Elliot knew he shouldn't have attacked him. That level of hostility should have been reserved for Keyes and the other men who had attacked George.

And now he had to talk to a department psychiatrist. He had only recently come to trust Hendricks. And now he often confided in George, although it wasn't a psychiatrist-and-patient relationship; their relationship was just the two of them, opening up to each other and helping each other.

He didn't trust any psychiatrists besides those two. It was hard for him to trust, and someone had to truly make him feel safe in order to get him to open up. He didn't want to almost get fired again for voicing his anger management problems. But now he had to talk to a psychiatrist he didn't trust anyway.

He arrived home and gave a small smile as he thought about the fact that now he could spend the day with George, instead of worrying about him from at the 16th precinct. They had an appointment with Rebecca scheduled later, but otherwise, he could spend the rest of the day talking to George. They both needed it, he knew. The nightmares they'd both had, and George's odd behavior earlier in the day…

Elliot opened the door to their apartment and walked in, shrugging his coat off as he entered.

"George?" He called. "I'm home!"


	50. Chapter 50

George took several deep breaths to prepare himself. He shuddered heavily, remembering how this had all started with a gun- the gun his attackers had held to his head to force him into the van. And now it was going to end with a gun.

He tightened his finger around the trigger, readying himself for the split-second of agony before the permanent darkness.

But then, before he could fire, the door opened, and he heard Elliot call, "George? I'm home!"

George bit back a curse. He had tried to plan everything perfectly- but apparently, that wasn't enough. He didn't even bother wondering why Elliot was home early. Whatever the cause was, it didn't matter; all that did matter was that now he wouldn't be able to follow through with his plan. The whole point had been saving Elliot the self-blame and guilt he would feel if he committed suicide while he was there. Since Elliot was home early, he wouldn't be able to go through with it after all.

Somehow, he didn't feel surprised. Nothing ever went according to plan anymore, and everything else had done nothing but cause him anguish- "Why should this be any different?" he muttered to himself bitterly. Maybe this was the universe's way of punishing him for trying to die when he didn't deserve such peace.

He bit his lip and silently set Elliot's gun back in the drawer. He folded the note and put it into his pocket; he'd try this again later, if he got the chance. Even if he didn't deserve it, that wasn't enough to stop him from seeking the only peace possible for him.

He stroked his own chest for a moment, closing his eyes as he steadied himself. Then he gave a resigned sigh and walked into the living room to greet Elliot. As upset as he was that his attempt had been unknowingly thwarted, he still smiled when he saw Elliot.

"Hey, doc," Elliot said softly as George walked into the room.

"Hey," George replied quietly. "Why are you home so early?"

Elliot paused, immediately deciding not to tell George the whole story, knowing that it would just open the door for more self-castigation from him, but unsure of where to begin. Finally he just shrugged and said, "I lost it with a suspect. Captain's making me take leave."

"You really need to work on your temper," George said. He wasn't scolding Elliot, but he did sound concerned. "You work with the worst, most twisted people on the planet every day, and now someone you love-" He inhaled slowly, forcing himself not to say anything about not deserving it- "Has been hurt by it as well. It's normal for you to be affected so much by the suspects after that, but that doesn't mean you should just let it happen. You're too… you're too involved."

"I know, I know," Elliot replied with a small huff. "We have an appointment with Rebecca later today. I'm going to tell her about it. I have to talk to a company shrink anyway, before I return. May as well get the real emotions out now, so I don't blow it then." He smiled sadly. "I wish it could be you who evaluated me, though. You get me better than the others."

"I wish so, too. I know how hard it is to talk to someone else," George said softly, walking towards Elliot. He wrapped his arms around Elliot's waist, both giving and taking comfort. He considered telling him what had just happened, but decided not to; he still wanted to commit suicide, as much as he hated to admit even to himself, and if Elliot knew, he'd try to stop him. And besides, if Elliot knew nothing, it could lessen the blame he placed on himself. Elliot would still feel guilty, but less so than if he knew and tried to help him, but failed.

But he still felt overwhelmingly guilty for not telling him. Elliot told him absolutely everything- why should he keep secrets from him?

"Do you want to talk for a while before we go see Rebecca?" Elliot asked gently. "You usually have an easier time talking to me than you do to her, just like I do."

"If you want," George replied. Elliot nodded and wrapped an arm around George's waist as he walked them towards the sofa.

"So what was your nightmare about?" Elliot asked. He pulled George into his lap and rested his chin on his head, hands coming to rest on George's back. He rubbed his shoulders gently, knowing that they were always tense, especially when George was under this much stress.

George inhaled deeply. "The same thing as always. They had me, and they beat me, cut me, burned me, and raped me," he muttered. "I was hungry and thirsty, and I was in pain, and I just felt hopeless. Like I… like I wanted to die."

Elliot held George closer to him. "It'll be okay," he murmured sympathetically.

"I hope so," George replied, sliding a hand over his pocket.

"I promise, it will," Elliot whispered.

George nodded and leaned into Elliot's hold, more conflicted than ever. If he told Elliot, Elliot would stop him, and he might never be able to commit suicide. If he didn't tell him, the guilt would continue to eat him alive.

"Can we not talk about that for a little while though?" George asked quietly, hugging Elliot. "I just want to sit with you for a little while and not think about all this."

"Okay with me," Elliot said, leaning back.

George relaxed into Elliot's hold, shifting downwards to rest his head over his heart so he could enjoy the soothing rhythm of Elliot's heartbeat.

* * *

George and Elliot walked into Rebecca's office a few hours later, both feeling slightly more relaxed after the time they'd had to regroup.

"Hello, Elliot. George," Rebecca greeted them as they walked in.

"Hey," Elliot replied with a slight nod. He and George started to walk towards her office.

"I want you both to talk to me separately this time," Rebecca informed them, to George's dismay.

George hadn't even thought he'd have to have another session at all, but now he was here, and he couldn't even have Elliot with him for support. He didn't feel even slightly ready to be alone during the intense, difficult, draining sessions. "Rebecca, I can't- I know we should, but I-" George protested, stumbling over his words.

"You need to be apart eventually, and it's better to get this over with now," Rebecca reasoned.

"Can't we stay together for one more week, and then do this separately when he's more prepared?" Elliot asked, wrapping a comforting arm around George's shoulder. "He's had a really rough week- we both have."

"In our most recent sessions, I've seen both of you become increasingly co-dependent towards each other, but that isn't why I want you to split up for now. I need to see how you're doing individually," Rebecca explained.

"Okay, then," Elliot said. "I'll take the first session, George," he added softly.

"Okay," George agreed shakily. He embraced Elliot tightly before Elliot pulled away and walked into the room with Rebecca.


	51. Chapter 51

"So, detective, how have the two of you been doing?" Rebecca asked.

"I've been okay, mostly. I lost it with a suspect earlier today, though, and I'm really worried about George," Elliot replied.

"How about you tell me some of your concerns about George, and then we'll talk about you for a while," Rebecca suggested.

Elliot nodded and began his explanation. "He's gotten a lot worse. He had the worst flashback the other day, when he caught the smell of cigarette smoke, and he hasn't been the same since. I mean, he hasn't been the same since he was taken either, but…"

"What happened in his flashback?" Rebecca asked.

"They attacked him psychologically. They burned and raped him, then they convinced him he deserved it. And they had him convinced that they were going to kill him at any second… Rebecca, I have never seen so much terror and pain and despair on someone's face before." The desperation and hurt were clear in Elliot's eyes as he spoke.

"I understand why he'd be shaken after that. What I don't understand, though," Elliot continued, "Is that ever since then, he's been castigating himself even more than he did before. Before, he blamed himself, but nothing like this. He thought it was his fault, but he didn't think it was his fault exclusively. And he thinks he deserves what happened to him."

He sighed. "And- it lasts for just a second each time, but still- he thinks I'm going to hurt him, every time he reacts physically to a flashback or something I say, but he hides it. I just don't get it! I know victims are always hyper-alert, but now he can't seem to get rid of his anxiety. I thought he was getting better! But now the PTSD is even worse, and I don't get why. Right after I got him out of the flashback, he said he didn't think he would ever be able to leave the torture, but I thought… I didn't think he would backslide this much."

"Elliot, you know, of course, that flashbacks can be extremely distressing. But sometimes, a flashback of especially traumatic events can cause the victim so much distress, that it has the same psychological implications as having the event occur again would," Rebecca explained.

"So what you're saying is, even though he was right next to me physically, mentally, he was tortured again," Elliot said, frowning. "I knew he would be upset about remembering, but… he really feels like he was attacked all over again?"

"Essentially, yes- psychologically, it's the same thing. And so, while he did seem to be healing before, now the learned behavior and beliefs, which he had been discarding, have been reinforced again. Even though he knows logically that it's false, it has been drilled into him, subconsciously, that he deserves it, and that he is not to fight back, or he will be killed," Rebecca said.

"So now he won't be able to stop thinking that he deserves it and anyone can attack him at any moment?" Elliot asked, dismayed.

"No, it's not that serious. He can recover… but I would be lying if I said this was a minor setback. This will take a lot of time to fix, and it will be painful. Today, I'm just going to give him a mental status exam, but after this, the sessions will become extremely difficult," Rebecca warned. "Before, the need to prepare him for the trial was the most important thing, but the trial will be finished by our next session, and then the healing process will start. And like many physical diseases, it will get worse before it gets better."

"But none of that is fair! He doesn't deserve what happened to him, and he doesn't deserve to have to think this way. And he deserves to recover easily," Elliot protested. A second later, he sighed and shook his head. "I sound like a kid. Just because something isn't right doesn't mean it won't happen."

"It's a natural reaction. Someone you love is going through a lot of pain; of course your initial reaction would be to protest the injustice of it all. Most people would adopt at least one pathological defense mechanism at that point," Rebecca assured him.

"Yeah, I guess," Elliot relented. "I just feel so bad for him. And I'm really worried about him."

"How so?" Rebecca asked.

Elliot folded his hands in his lap. He took a deep breath as he thought about everything that he was concerned about. "He's just been struggling, and I'm worried that he won't be able to handle this for much longer," Elliot began. It was nice, knowing he could say just how worried he was without upsetting George further. It was nice to finally get all of this off his chest. But it didn't fix the fact that George was so vulnerable, so damaged, in the first place. And as long as that was the case, Elliot knew he wasn't going to feel okay.

"Elliot?" Rebecca prodded, after a minute of silence passed.

"I'm thinking," Elliot muttered.

After a long moment, Elliot looked up and shook his head, showing his disgust with the situation. "Some of the things he's been saying… Rebecca, he absolutely despises himself. Before he was taken, he was confident. Not arrogant by any means, but he knew his worth and his strengths. Now he either refuses to acknowledge them, or he insists that they're faults. Some of the best things about himself, he thinks are flaws, and ones that make him deserve what happened to him, at that," Elliot said sadly.

"Does he believe the other victims deserve what happened to them?" Rebecca asked. "And what does he think about his attackers?"

"He doesn't think the others deserve it; he thinks it's just him. And he thinks his attackers…" Elliot paused, trying to word his thoughts. "He thinks what they did to him was deserved and his fault, but he doesn't like them. But he still shows… not sympathy, but something, towards them. He doesn't want them to get the death penalty, and…"

He paused again. "I honestly think that, if his attackers were to be injured or killed, he would feel sorry for them. And not just because he's so compassionate to everyone; it feels almost like he… feels for them? Not quite, but that's the closest word I can come up with. He doesn't like them at all, but on the other hand, he isn't even angry at them, for what they did to him. I think he was angry at one point, but he isn't anymore- and not in a good, he-got-closure sort of way... He only dislikes them for what they did to the other victims."

"What does he refer to them as, when he talks about them?" Rebecca asked, looking more intent now. She looked concerned, too, which made Elliot feel more anxious.

"He usually says 'my attackers', 'my captors', and so on. Sometimes he calls them by their last names," Elliot replied nervously. "Why do you want to know?"

"I wanted to know if Stockholm syndrome might be a concern. He does show some of the signs, but for the most part, he doesn't have any attachment to them. And that's good. It will make it easier to convince him that what happened to him was brutal torture by sick, sadistic men, not a punishment- let alone a deserved one," Rebecca said.

She waited for the words to sink in before continuing. "One more question, before we move on to you. I know you have other concerns, but you won't do him any good by spending all your time worrying about him. You have to focus on yourself sooner or later. So, my question is: aside from his misguided belief that he deserves what happened to him, and his flashbacks, what other concerns do you have about him?"

"If I list everything, it will take the whole session anyway," Elliot answered, sighing softly. "He has nightmares every night- I can't remember the last time he got a good night's sleep. Except for a few nights ago, but that wasn't sleep- he got drunk in an attempt to cope. But that won't become a chronic problem, because we're not buying any more and we don't go to bars. The problem's over before it started." He looked up at Rebecca expectantly.

"Go on," Rebecca said, nodding her head to show that she wasn't going to press the issue.

"He not only thinks he deserves what happened to him, and it's his fault they killed the others in the first place, but he also thinks he doesn't deserve to have someone love him. Sometimes he manages to believe otherwise, but that's rare… And he thinks he doesn't deserve to be here, and that the other victims should have survived, not him. He also thinks the families of the other victims wish he had died instead of the others. I've spoken to them; they wish their loved one was alive, of course, but none of them want it at the expense of someone else. They don't wish him dead."

He shook his head sadly. "And, the last few days, there have been times where, if he thinks he's done something wrong, he tenses his body like he thinks someone is going to hurt him, but then he stops a second later and is embarrassed about it. There are times when he apologizes for things that aren't his fault. And when I tell him not to, he just says 'okay' like he's just humoring me. He knows it's ridiculous, but he still can't stop those thoughts as often as he should."

He looked at his hands, giving a deep sigh. "He has panic attacks, usually right after his flashbacks- he has so many of them, and they can be triggered at the drop of a hat. His startle reflex is ridiculous. He shows all the signs of Rape Trauma Syndrome, and the other psychological problems most torture victims deal with- he's just about a textbook case," he said sadly.

"And he's so depressed… He's miserable all day. Even when he's with me, which he says made him happy- and I think it did, before that goddamned flashback- you can just feel the hurt he's been through. He just never seems to feel good sensations. Like, if I rub his back, he doesn't react except for flinching, even though it used to relax him," Elliot said, closing his eyes. "He's been depressed ever since he was found, but it got worse when the trial started, and even worse than that after he had the flashback."

"I need to talk to George first, in order to confirm my suspicions, but from what you're telling me, it sounds like he has severe clinical depression and PTSD," Rebecca said. Elliot nodded sadly, and Rebecca said, reassuringly, "Both are treatable; again, it will be a long and difficult process, but he can recover."

She paused for a moment and added, "But now that you've told me your concerns, and I know what to expect when I talk to George, I want to talk about your problems controlling your anger. What happened when you lost your temper with the suspect?"

Elliot paused; it felt easier to talk about his concerns about George than about himself. If it was up to him, he'd use all his time to make sure George was okay, and he'd ignore his own issues, continuing to internalize them.

Then again, he thought with a sigh, that was exactly the problem, exactly what had landed him in his current situation at work. As much as he hated to admit it, Rebecca and George were both right; he needed to start opening up.

But that didn't make it any easier to talk about his feelings.


	52. Chapter 52

Elliot gathered his thoughts, trying to decide what to tell Rebecca. The memories of the last few days flashed through his mind, and he gave a deep sigh. He took in a few deep breaths and began, "I was on edge all day. Like I said, George has had a really rough time these last few days, and I've been furious with myself for failing to protect him."

"You do know that blaming yourself isn't healthy, right?" Rebecca asked, cutting Elliot off.

Elliot shrugged. "Unless the blame is deserved."

"You couldn't have protected him from this, Elliot," Rebecca said. "You can't blame yourself."

"No, I could have," Elliot protested. "I could have gone with him to Bellevue when he talked to his patient. And even after he was taken, I should have been able to find him- If I'd found him sooner, he would have been shaken, but he'd be okay. George has spent his whole life trying to help people, first trying to cure those sick freaks so they wouldn't hurt anyone again, then trying to catch them once he realized they couldn't be cured. The NYPD should have been able to save him, but we couldn't. I couldn't save him, and even now that he's back, I'm still failing him."

Elliot clenched his hands into fists. "I've triggered at least a half dozen flashbacks in him. I can't ease his nightmares. I can soothe his anxiety attacks and bring him out of the flashbacks, but even then it takes forever. I can't even make him feel happy anymore. No one can, but I'm his lover; I should be able to anyway, even when no one else can."

"You have to face the truth, Elliot," Rebecca said softly. "Taking the blame is just your mind's way of trying to give you- and George- some control back. But you can't control everything. You can't prevent things like this from happening, as hard as you may try. Keyes and the others are sick, sick men, and they had George in their sights. They wouldn't have given up until they got him; it was only a matter of time until they did this. It was terrible, and it's natural for both of you to blame yourselves like you do… but that doesn't mean it's healthy for you to do that. Neither of you are at fault."

"Also," Rebecca added, "George's mental state isn't your fault either. After all he's been through, feeling hopelessly depressed is practically unavoidable. George is very strong, and because of his experience with SVU and as a mental health professional, he's handled this better than most in the situation, but his mental state was bound to decline eventually. Him not being able to feel happy anymore, even despite your efforts, isn't your fault. You're good for George, and he knows it- he's just _incapable_ of feeling pleasure right now, even from the person he cares about the most. And he does care about you, more than anyone, with the possible exception of his sister."

Elliot hung his head, taking a deep breath. "I know," he whispered. "I know, deep down, that it isn't my fault, but I just… he means everything to me, Rebecca. Him and my kids. Part of me still loves Kathy, and always will, but it was never anything like this. And George has been hurt so much, and I'm beginning to doubt he'll ever recover. I just want him to stop hurting. I want George to stop being dealt such a shitty hand and having his entire world hurt, and I feel like it's my fault his recovery isn't happening. When he woke up in the hospital…" He trailed off, swallowing hard.

After a few deep breaths, he managed to continue. "When he woke up the first time, he was delirious from fever, and he thought he was dreaming because he was with me, instead of being tortured," he said brokenly. "And do you know what he told me later? He told me that while he was there, he dreamed about being with me. Every damn day he was there, he was waiting for _me_ to come and save him, Rebecca! He was waiting for me to get him out of there and help him pick up the pieces! He was counting on me to save him and make it okay again, and I never did! NOBDOY did! Until he was found on that road, no thanks to me, and that lady called 911 for him! That was the only time anyone did anything to help him!"

Elliot blinked rapidly, trying to stop tears from falling. He didn't succeed, though his voice remained steady. "George was there that whole time, and we never even got close to saving him. If he hadn't become septic, those bastards would still have him- or they might have killed him! Either way, I did NOTHING to help! Nothing at all! And yet he still asked for me when he was found on the side of that road! He was dying and he knew it, and he wanted to see me even though I never saved him! Even though I've always failed him and treated him like shit, he was still desperate to see me one more time!"

"But that's just it, Elliot," Rebecca murmured gently. "I've seen you blame yourself for so much, especially when the victims blame you. When a rapist gets off on a technicality, when you can't find enough evidence to convict a child molester, you blame yourself, and sometimes the victims do, too, and that makes it worse. But this time, when your best wasn't enough, the victim DIDN'T blame you. George loves you with everything he has; clearly he isn't mad at you for not saving him. He doesn't blame you, because he knows you're only human, and he doesn't want you to blame yourself."

"But the only reason George doesn't blame _me_ is because he blames _himself_!" Elliot cried. "He thinks he brought it on himself, and that he didn't deserve to be saved! He thinks he should still be there, getting tortured and raped every damn day! Of course he isn't mad at me for not getting him out of there! That doesn't make my failures okay, Rebecca, it doesn't! I was supposed to save him!"

He gave a quiet sob and whispered, "I pictured it, so many times. I pictured him being tortured, and it made we want to cry and throw up at the same time. But I also imagined saving him. I was going to get a lead, find the place, and burst in. I was going to find him weak and in pain and shaken, but nothing a bit of rest, medicine, counseling, and a long vacation to recuperate wouldn't fix- I mean, he wouldn't be a-okay, but he would be able to work again and he wouldn't be this badly traumatized- and I was going to help him out of there and to the ambulance, and I was going to stay with him when he was admitted overnight to the hospital. I was going to refuse to leave his side even after I got his statement and the rape kit, and I'd help him to his place the next day. I'd give him his pain medicine and help rub that antibiotic/numbing cream on his cuts and burns, and then I'd help him to bed and stay with him to make him feel safe and protected. I, I hadn't realized I loved him yet, but I still… that was how it was supposed to happen."

"Instead, he almost died, and now he's so broken, I don't think he's ever going to recover. Those bastards are always going to have him mentally, even if it does get to the point where he isn't in the throes of a flashback or panic attack for half his waking hours. Even if he does recover the ability to function again… his life is still ruined. He isn't going to be able to work with special victims anymore. When he first woke up in the hospital and talked to the shrink there, we thought he might be able to, but now, it's pretty obvious that every case would make him panic. And interviewing serial rapists and murderers? No chance. His career with SVU is over; at best, he can profile for homicides. Working with special victims is as important for him as it is for me, and now he can't do it anymore…" Elliot trailed off, despair clear in his voice and on his face. "How am I supposed to tell myself that it wasn't my fault, and I couldn't have prevented it? If I had acted, he wouldn't be this much of a mess, and he'd have some semblance of his normal self..."

"Often, what you feel and what you know are very different things," Rebecca said slowly. "George knows that he didn't deserve what happened to him, that he didn't bring it on himself, that he isn't a terrible, arrogant, worthless, pathetic person, and that not everyone hates him. He knows that he deserves to recover, and that he deserves to have love and affection from you, and that he doesn't deserve pain and to be denied food and water. But he doesn't feel any of that, does he? It's the same with you. You're both blaming yourselves, because you both feel that you made mistakes, and because it it gives you some control over what happened- neither of you are currently able to accept that terrible things can happen for no reason at all. But accepting that there are times when you aren't in control is much better than self-castigation. The former won't lead to you hating yourself and becoming self-destructive."

"Elliot, you may think that George is the only one who was victimized by Keyes, but you were too. And he's convincing you to hate yourself the same way he made George hate himself. You're both his victims, even if you weren't his direct target, and if you want to help George, you can't let that continue," Rebecca said urgently.

Elliot closed his eyes, which were stinging from his tears, and tried to gain control of himself. Before he'd gotten with George, Rebecca had been the only person he'd allow to see him cry, but he still didn't want her to see him for very long. Even with George, he tried to hide his emotions, though that was more because he didn't want to add to George's burden than it was because of his own pride.

But strangely, letting people know he cared for George didn't bother him as much as he thought it would. He didn't even have a problem with Rebecca seeing him crying, as much that he didn't want her to have anything she could use to get him suspended from work for even longer. But he didn't mind telling anyone how much he loved George, and how much George's pain hurt him.

"I know," Elliot finally said, exhaling slowly. He took another steadying breath. "I know. I'm trying. I can't help George if I'm too busy blaming myself, but it's so hard. Part of me is never going to be able to accept that George was waiting for me to save him, and I never came. Part of me is always going to hate myself for that. But I'm going to try to get rid of those feelings, as much as I can."

"Good," Rebecca said approvingly. "It won't be easy, but it can be done."

"I'll try," Elliot said again. At the moment, he couldn't see it happening any time soon, but he knew he had to try. He couldn't help carry George's pain if he was struggling as much as George was.

He had never really wanted to change for himself, which was why he had never gotten his temper under control, but he could almost always be persuaded if it was for another person. He didn't care if he blamed himself forever, but if George needed him to stop, he would. He would do anything for George, anything to be able to help him recover.


	53. Chapter 53

Rebecca brought Elliot out of his thoughts. "Let's talk about this another time. Please continue explaining what happened today," she said softly.

Elliot closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'd had a nightmare that I found George, but his attackers killed him before I could save him. And then we woke up and George cooked while I got ready. I walked up to him and I accidentally scared him when I hugged him- the exaggerated startle reflex and everything. Then he tried not to eat very much, and I made him take more food, because he's still really underweight. Less so than when he was found, of course, but he should be at least ten pounds heavier, and his BMI is still at fifteen. So then I realized that I didn't know how often he'd eaten when he was there- I knew it hadn't been enough, obviously, because he was pretty much skin and bone when we found him, but I didn't know the specifics."

"I didn't want to scare him, and I should have known better than to ask, but I couldn't resist. I asked how long his attackers went without giving him food. And he told me that the whole month he was there, they only let him eat six times. They waited until he was about to pass out, AND he had to say he didn't deserve food first, and then they attacked him after it for 'taking things he didn't deserve'. That's what really gets me…" Elliot said, tears forming in his eyes again.

"That had to have been hard to hear," Rebecca said sympathetically, looking slightly disturbed at what Elliot was saying. "Go on."

"George and I talked for a while, but I ended up having to head to work before we could really talk much. There was a man who had raped and murdered a young woman at Hudson University. We finally caught him today, and he confessed on the spot- waived Miranda. He said he was proud of what he'd done," Elliot said.

"I got angry, and I started arguing with him. Then he grinned at me, and he actually said-" Elliot clenched his fists- "He actually said, with this amused look on his face, 'at least I didn't do to her, what those guys on the news did. They killed six or so men.' Then he fucking laughed and added, 'the bitch should consider herself lucky that she isn't as weak as that guy who survived'. He was talking that way about George and he never even fucking met him!"

"He must have seen the news coverage of the case," Rebecca surmised.

"Yeah. It's a big case, of course; so many men tortured to death, and the only survivor being an FBI profiler. And so this freak saw it, and he was taunting us with it, because he knew that George worked with the NYPD as well as the feds, and it was like rubbing salt in our wounds," Elliot said.

"So you were angry, because George has been through so much and this man was mocking him, not seeing how strong George really is," Rebecca stated.

"Yeah. And not only that, I was instantly reminded of George's attackers, because Keyes taunted the NYPD too, just like this guy. And I just lost it… I slammed him into a wall and started screaming, 'You think it's funny, that they took the FBI's best profiler and tortured him? Do you really think torturing someone and nearly killing them is funny?' And I tried to choke the guy… I-I know this sounds nuts, but I saw the face of George's attacker, instead of that guy's, while I attacked him," Elliot admitted.

"Because you want revenge on George's attackers, and he was as close as you were going to get," Rebecca explained. "Your anger just overwhelmed everything else, and your mind supplied the picture it wanted to see while you were attacking him."

"I almost killed the guy," Elliot said ashamedly. "He's a bastard, and he'd deserve it, but I should know better. Cragen and Olivia rushed in and tried to pull me off him, but I kept pushing them away and going back… it took Cragen threatening my badge to get me to stop. And then I yelled at him."

"You were overwhelmed," Rebecca said simply.

Elliot nodded. "I was. I just… at this point, if someone so much as looks at George the wrong way, I'm automatically incensed. I-I love him, and I feel like I'm the only one who can protect him at all. And I'm going to do that, even if I take it too far sometimes. I failed him so badly before, and it's my fault he got hurt-" He tried not to say those words aloud, but he believed them too much not to, even if he was castigating himself- "But I'm going to make up for it now. I'm trying not to take it too far, but I don't mind if it's for him," he said softly.

Rebecca looked at the clock. "It's time for George's session. Next week, though, we're going to talk about this, and we're going to work on getting you to stop blaming yourself."

"Okay," Elliot said as he stood. He nodded at Rebecca before opening the door and entering the waiting room again.

George sighed as he walked into the reception area. He sat down, tapping his foot and rubbing his arms restlessly. He was embarrassed and concerned at his nervous behavior, but it released some of the tension, and it was better than anything else he could think of.

He had a strong suspicion as to what Elliot was talking about, and it caused him overwhelming guilt. He knew Elliot was selflessly giving everything he could to try and help him recover, and he wished more than anything that Elliot's efforts would pay off. Elliot was a one in a million person, one he was truly blessed- undeservedly- to have.

Elliot deserved so much better than him, George thought sadly. He never showed Elliot how much he appreciated his help, and Elliot was becoming so drained from helping him, but he never complained. If he had ever deserved Elliot, he was sure he didn't by now.

George reached into his pocket, grabbing the suicide note he was carrying. Maybe he should just walk back outside and throw himself in front of a bus.

Everyone would be better off if he did it. His attackers would be thrilled, though it would be marred by the knowledge that it was sooner and less painful than he deserved, and the fact that it hadn't been at their hands. His parents would be happy to be rid of the worst son they could possibly have had. His co-workers wouldn't have to deal with him acting like he was the best psychiatrist on the planet, when any trainee at Quantico would be better than he was, and his co-workers at the NYPD would be glad to replace the worst profiler they'd had the misfortune to know, and finally get a profiler who was competent and not arrogant.

Elliot and Nora wouldn't feel happy at first, but they'd realize how wrong they'd been for loving him; they'd realize that they were better off.

George wished he could push Elliot and Nora away first, and make them stop loving him, so his suicide wouldn't hit as hard. If only he could make it work that easily, George thought sadly. Elliot would never leave him, and Nora's sense of sisterly love went too far for her to cut him off, which would make it so much harder for them when he finally killed himself.

He stood up and started walking around the room restlessly. He glanced out the window, wanting nothing more than to leave the office and get hit by a car. There'd be a few seconds of panic, then a split second of agony, then nothingness- immediate unconsciousness and death, if he got hit by the right size of car at the right angle and speed. He didn't really like the idea of committing suicide directly after leaving a psychiatrist's office, though.

George decided to just stick to his original plan. Get Elliot to leave the house for a while- maybe say he needed some ibuprofen or something to get Elliot to go to the grocery store- and then he'd shoot himself in the heart. He didn't want to eat his gun; he didn't want the sight to be too horrific, for Elliot's sake. Chest wounds still looked terrible, but they weren't as bad as head wounds. He'd still be able to have an open-casket funeral this way- not that it would matter to anyone but his lover and his sister.

Eventually, after what felt like years, it was his time for his session. Elliot walked out, bringing George out of his dark thoughts, and he immediately noticed that Elliot's eyes were red and puffy from tears. Elliot had been crying over him-

He snarled at himself silently. He was still being so arrogant. Like he was the only thing in Elliot's life that could make him cry. Like anyone would cry over him to begin with. Keyes and the other had been so _right _about him.

George walked over to Elliot and embraced him tightly, feeling so guilty at his selfishness that it twisted his stomach. He was causing Elliot so much grief, and doing nothing to make it up to him.

"Are you okay, El?" George whispered.

"Yeah," Elliot murmured, resting his chin on George's forehead. George could tell, just from his voice, that Elliot's throat was sore. "It was an emotional session, that's all." He gave a weak smile. "That means it's helping though, huh? That's what you always told me, when you tried to get me to open up."

George nodded slowly, thinking about Elliot's words. It felt like decades, rather than months ago, that he and Elliot hadn't gotten along, and his biggest worries had been profiling accurately, helping to win court cases, and trying to get his patients- including the detectives- to open up. The shouting match he and Elliot had had over Kevin Walker's coerced confession felt like something that had happened centuries ago.

"George?" Elliot asked.

George blinked, startled out of his thoughts. "Yeah?"

"You okay?" Elliot asked worriedly.

George sighed heavily, shaking his head and muttering, "I haven't been okay for a long time."

Elliot took in a slow, deep breath, and whispered into George's ear, "You will be soon. I promise. I won't let you stay like this forever."

George gave a slight nod and, after a moment, forced himself to pull away. Elliot did more to help than anyone or anything else- talking to Rebecca was useless, compared with how he felt when he talked to Elliot.

Elliot seemed to sense his thoughts. "I don't like this much, either," he murmured. "But we both need to do it. You're a shrink; you know we have to, even if we don't want to."

"I know." George said. "I just… I…"

Looking into Elliot's eyes, he wanted nothing more than to tell him everything, but he just _couldn't._ Telling Elliot would mean being talked out of his plan, probably at the cost of being committed to Bellevue's psych ward. He just couldn't do it.

Finally, he simply said, "It hurts."

"I know it does," Elliot said gently. "It hurts when I talk about it, too. But, I'll be here when you're done, and then we can regroup, okay?" he asked.

"Okay," George agreed, nodding. He stood on his toes and gently kissed Elliot's lips, then his forehead, before dislodging and reluctantly walking to Rebecca's office.


	54. Chapter 54

George sighed, wishing he could come up with an excuse not to talk to Rebecca, and just return home instead; he didn't feel up to talking. But he knew he had no choice but to go through with it.

He touched his pocket. The note was still there. "Soon…" he thought to himself.

He looked at his hands for a moment, breathing deeply. He began to feel strangely numb; the painful emotions were still there, but it was as though they were being felt by someone else, instead of him.

"Hello, George," Rebecca said as he entered the room.

"Hey," George said, nodding slowly and walking to one of the chairs in the office.

"Tell me what happened this week," Rebecca requested once George had sat down.

George tapped his foot restlessly. He looked at the walls to avoid Rebecca's gaze, reading all the framed degrees before looking at her bookshelves and every other detail of the room. Then he looked at his lap again, speaking slightly louder so his voice would be heard. "The trial's been hell, like I knew it would be," he said. He was unnerved to hear that his voice was completely flat and emotionless.

As a psychiatrist, he knew detachment was normal for PTSD, but it could also be a sign of other, more severe psychiatric illnesses. Even if it was just from the PTSD, it was still unsettling to feel so detached, but he felt better knowing that it was normal. He pushed the thought away, even though it scared him.

"Just testifying as an expert witness was tiring enough; having every detail of what I said picked apart and trying not to lose my temper while I had to calmly repeat the same answer over and over again," George said. "But now, I have to see my attacker's faces constantly, while still keeping my story straight, but not too straight. If I change my story too much, I must be lying, but if I never change a detail, I must be covering up a lie and I must have spent a lot of time going over it word-for-word. I have to keep my composure while the defense attorney accuses me of wanting them to rape me because I got an erection, and sometimes ejaculated, during the attacks, and I have to tolerate them saying the cuts and burns and bruises and welts were just consensual BDSM gone too far. I have to pretend to be stronger than I feel, because if I show how vulnerable I really am, they jury will lose respect for me, but I can't appear too strong either, because then I'm not traumatized enough to be a victim."

"I can't say a lot of the things I think and feel, like that I brought it on myself and I deserve to still be there, or that I deserve to be dead instead of the others. I can't say that the men who attacked me make me so afraid and sick that I throw up in my mouth every time I see a _picture_ of them, let alone when I see them in person," George continued.

He had vented those frustrations to Elliot so many times, but as an SVU detective, Elliot already knew the flaws in the legal system, and while he was disgusted, he was also used to it. It was different- and better- to talk to someone who, while experienced with the legal system, could still feel his frustrations. Sometimes, George thought, an outsider's perspective was better, even though he preferred talking to Elliot most of the time.

George shook his head once, returning his focus to the conversation. "I almost want to just lie and say I _did _want it, just so I won't have to testify anymore. Even when I'm not the one testifying, it's just as bad. I have to hear ME Warner testifying about what the others looked like when they were killed and how the cause of death was dehydration, but the manner of death was homicide, and I have to hear Kayla- the EMT who found me- and Elliot talking about what I looked like on the side of the road. I have to hear my doctors talking about how my injuries almost killed me, that they had given me a 25% chance for survival when I came in, and how I was starved and dehydrated and I was septic, which caused me to spike a fever so high that they almost had to ice me down. I have to hear them say how I flatlined once because of the damage the infection caused to my internal organs, especially my kidneys, heart, and lungs, and how it's just short of miraculous that I've recovered this well and the only lingering effects are fatigue, loss of muscle strength, and a weak immune system, when I would otherwise have permanent lung damage, kidney failure, and a host of other problems. And all of those illnesses could be attributed to my infected wounds, which were a direct result of being held captive by them- I have to hear, over and over again, how their injuries almost killed me and caused permanent damage."

"And then my attackers testify. They look directly at me and say that I wanted it. I have to control the urge to run, and I can only sit there and try to cover up the fact that I'm shaking violently, and panicking so much that I swear my chest is going to explode. I have to remember every single psychological and physical attack, and resist the urge to correct their lies that I wanted it and it was BDSM gone wrong, and I want to say that they ruined everything for me and if I had wanted it, I wouldn't be this traumatized. But I can't; it would cause a mistrial. And then I have to grapple with the things I've been thinking ever since I had the worst flashback; that I deserve it and brought it on myself, and that I don't even deserve to be alive. It takes every ounce of willpower I have just to walk into the courthouse every day, and it's aggravating my PTSD," George said.

"The panic attacks, flashbacks and nightmares have been getting so much worse. I can barely eat anymore because I'm always nauseated from the stress and anxiety. I can't sleep without having a nightmare, and flashbacks and panic attacks can be triggered by the slightest thing- sometimes I enter them the second I wake up, if the nightmare is especially vivid. I had an awful flashback the other day, and I ended up doing some… unhealthy things in an attempt to cope. I passed my breaking point," he finished, still sounding completely detached.

He looked at his hands as he made more useless motions with them, turning them over and over again and squeezing one hand with the other. He knew that psychomotor agitation was a dangerous sign in depressive individuals, so he braced himself for Rebecca's next words.

"Your affect is flat," Rebecca observed. "You sound like you're dissociating, or trying to dissociate, from what happened. Your description of the stresses the trial is placing on you is definitely sincere; you are very clearly struggling to cope. But you sound completely disinterested, much more so than if you were relaying what one of your patients said."

"Also, your physical state clearly suggests a deep depression and/or PTSD. You look like you haven't slept well in weeks, your posture shows that you're constantly ready for someone to attack you, and the purposeless, restless motions clearly indicate psychomotor agitation. And then there are the things Elliot told me about. You don't seem to feel good sensations anymore. You need to use sleep to escape reality, and even then, the escape isn't complete. Elliot says that the nightmares you have are truly awful, and they leave you struggling. You both acknowledge that the flashbacks are overwhelming you." Rebecca gave a nod in George's direction. "He told me that one flashback you had the other day had an especially profound impact on you."

"We both know that severe PTSD can cause a flat affect, Rebecca," George said tiredly. "You don't need to summarize the messages my tone of speech and body language are sending. Yes, I'm just about a textbook case of severe depression and PTSD, specifically Rape Trauma Syndrome. I'm agitated and afraid and depressed and tired, and I blame myself for every single thing that happened to me, and I feel guilty and worthless for being such a burden on Elliot, Nora, and everyone else I know, and I hate myself, and I'm at the point where I'd rather die than experience it for another minute, and I'm trying to dissociate from it all. I feel vulnerable and overwhelmed and hopeless, and I'd rather be completely numb than feel any of it anymore- it's the closest I can get to easing the pain without dying. It's harder to fix dissociation than depression, but psychiatrists are only human. _I'm_ only human. I just want it to stop, no matter what the cost, even if it's a short term gain and a long term loss for my mental health. I just can't bring myself to care that I'm hurting myself mentally- I just want the pain to stop. I want to stop hurting, and even though I'm a psychiatrist, the knowledge does me no good."

"And even though you're a psychiatrist, you can't think of a single way to cope besides letting yourself dissociate? What would you tell your patients?" Rebecca asked.

George leaned back against the sofa, overwhelmed by physical, mental, and emotional fatigue, wishing more than anything that he could just lie down. "I tell them exactly what you're telling me now, minus the part about being a psychiatrist. It doesn't mean I can cope now that I'm on this side of the fence. I know what to do to help them, but it doesn't help _me_. None of the standard advice, none of what I know as a psychiatrist, sounds right at all."

"Last time we spoke, you were doing okay," Rebecca said, frowning slightly. "Do you want to talk about what happened that has made you backslide so much?"

George nodded, keeping his irritation at bay. "I just remembered one of the worst psychological attacks." This time, he tried to talk with more emotion, but he could no longer get any feelings in his voice except for fear, sadness, or guilt. He stopped trying, deciding that it was better to sound emotionless than forcing himself to feel. He still felt them, but they felt like they were happening to someone else, and he was inclined to keep them that way.

"Elliot tells me that since then, you've been saying that you deserve what happened to you," Rebecca informed him. "He told me how you've been saying that they convinced you that you deserve to be raped and tortured."

"I…" He trailed off, thinking about how to word his thoughts. "I know, logically, that I don't. But when I was there, they destroyed any logical thoughts I had. I recovered a little in the hospital, especially because Elliot was there and reassuring me that I was a good, lovable person. But I can still hear them as clearly as though I was still there. And the flashback…"

"The flashback was like another attack, rather than a memory," Rebecca supplied. "It was like being there again."

"Yes." George said, nodding again. "It just dragged me right back there, and I don't think I'm ever going to leave again. I can't get my mind out of there."

"So you think you deserve what happened, despite knowing deep down that you don't," Rebecca said.

"It- it goes further than that, though," George said with a sigh. "It extends to everything. I feel like I don't deserve Elliot. I feel like I don't deserve to recover. Sometimes, I don't even think I deserve food or other things, and I have to convince myself that I do…"

"How did they convince you that you deserve what happened to you, you deserve to be deprived of food and water, and that you don't deserve a loving person to help you?" Rebecca asked.

"They… Do we have to talk about that, this session?" George asked.

Rebecca looked him over carefully. He wasn't making eye contact, which made it somewhat harder to read his expression- but it was a sign that George was struggling. "How about this: give me the basics this time, and we can delay a discussion about the specifics until next session."

George exhaled, nodding in relief. He'd rather not talk at all, but at least he'd managed to delay talking about the worst details of when he was attacked. Now he just had to make sure he didn't alert Rebecca to the fact that he was suicidal, so he could avoid being committed.


	55. Chapter 55

George prepared himself for several minutes, wishing he didn't have to talk at all. Not having to say the specifics was better than having to go into detail, but he'd rather not have to say anything at all.

He sighed despondently and began his explanation. "They would rape me and torture me… They'd make me tell them that I deserve it, and once I said that, they would hurt me more, and if I begged them to stop, they'd either place a hand on my throat or place a knife against my jugular… They'd tell me not to fight back again. I only did that once or twice before I learned not to."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, rubbing his chest. "If I didn't beg them to stop, they would keep making me say I deserve it, and then they'd make me list a reason. Sometimes I could say something that satisfied them- arrogance, stupidity, past failures, the way I was acting while they were hurting me, the fact that they'd killed their other victims because they wanted me- I didn't know they wanted revenge against me, personally, until I was in the hospital, so it was illogical for me to blame myself for that, but again, I couldn't be rational there- and they wore me down, and it just gradually clicked into place. The first time they did it, I started considering the possibility that it was my fault and I deserved it, and then it just started making more and more sense. I fought it, and I had times when I didn't believe it, even right before they let me go, but ever since I've been back it's been hard to convince myself otherwise," he said.

"And when they left you for dead on the side of the road, what were you thinking?" Rebecca prodded.

"I was too disoriented to actually think- I just reacted. They put a cloth over my face and drugged me. I passed out and woke up on the side of a road. I was disoriented from the septic shock, so I walked over to the road, despite the fact that I hadn't been allowed to move in a long time. A stranger found me and covered me with a blanket. The only thing I could think of, though, was that I wanted to see Elliot," George said.

He gave a sad smile and continued, "In the hospital, days later, I woke up in a lot of pain, and I felt like I was burning alive because my fever was so high. And Elliot was the first thing I saw when I woke up, and he was running a cold towel on my forehead. He had to get my statement right away, but after that, he comforted me… He was there for me from the start. I-I almost became convinced that I didn't deserve what happened to me, and that I deserved him, because he showed me so much love and affection. He's the closest anyone's come to convincing me that my attackers were wrong. But even with his support, the thoughts persisted, and became worse when I had to talk to Keyes to get him to turn the others in."

George shuddered. "I hated talking to Keyes, but it was worth it; I couldn't let him take another victim, and chances are that he would have gone after me again, too. But still, what he said to me just brought everything back. Even then… I might have been convinced otherwise, if it wasn't for that flashback. But I just- it convinced me again. I'm trying so hard to stop thinking that way, I really am. I don't want to think that I deserved to be tortured and raped," he said desperately.

"Of course you don't. I know that you don't want to think that way," Rebecca said reassuringly.

"It's just so hard. I want to stop thinking this way, but I can't stop." George paused for a minute. "I don't feel up to saying any more today," he admitted.

"That's fine; we'll talk more in depth next time," Rebecca said, deciding to let George stop and move on. "How would you assess your current mental state?"

"I agree with everything you've implied thus far, in terms of my symptoms," George said cautiously. He sighed and tugged at the sleeve on his sweater. "I've been using sleep as an escape even though I haven't slept without a nightmare in a long time- I haven't felt refreshed after sleeping for a long time, either- because the nightmares are better than the flashbacks and panic attacks. At least I can wake up from the nightmares, but when I remember what happened, it's like a nightmare I can't wake up from at all. I'm panicked when I have a nightmare, but they're easier to shake off than flashbacks. And there're other symptoms, too. I don't really feel happiness or pleasure anymore, I only get out of bed each day because Elliot makes me, and I have no appetite at all… You're right about all that." Despite the overwhelming depression George felt, his tone was flat and expressionless; he was trying to suppress his emotions. He didn't want to feel them after making himself so vulnerable.

Despite George's hope that she would forget to, Rebecca asked the question he had been dreading. "Have you had any suicidal ideation?"

George knew he had to do this just right- he couldn't sound too close to the truth, but he couldn't say the thought hadn't crossed his mind at all; it would sound suspicious. He knew being put on a 5150 hold would be best for him, but he didn't want it. He hated the guilt he felt for lying to Elliot and Rebecca, but he had to. Not every patient with suicidal ideation ended up being committed, but in his case, it was almost certain that he would be. He couldn't tell the truth, or he'd lose his chance to end it.

"No," he said simply. To make it more convincing, he added, "I'm not saying I haven't thought about it, or that I haven't felt like I want to die- I have, when I was in the hospital, and more recently, when I started to feel it again after the terrible flashback I had- but I don't have a plan, and I wouldn't bring about my own death. I have felt like I want to die, but I'm not in any danger of carrying out a plan."

Rebecca scrutinized him carefully, and he worried that she might see through his lie. She was a mental health professional just like he was; both of them were trained to know what the signs were, even if the patient denied it. As much as he hated being a patient, that was what he was, and although he had been able to mask his emotions before, he had lost the skill sometime during the month of constant fear and pain he'd endured. He wasn't as inscrutable as he used to be.

Rebecca must have seen what she was looking for, because finally, she nodded and said, "You will tell Elliot or me if you get past your breaking point and you begin to formulate a plan, though?"

George nodded. "Of course." He wondered how Rebecca would feel when she found out about him killing himself- it was possible that she would find out only a few hours after the session. He hoped he wouldn't cause her any guilt.

"If you were your own patient, what treatment you recommend for yourself?" Rebecca continued.

"I don't know. I can't be my own psychiatrist, any more than you could be your own psychiatrist. I know what I've been feeling, and I have suspicions about the possible causes, but I can't diagnose myself. It's so much easier to analyze someone else than it is to analyze myself. I know I have PTSD and some form of depression, but I'm not impartial enough to distinguish what that form is. And I certainly can't recommend therapies and things for myself, either," George said.

"What would you recommend for someone else in your situation, then?" Rebecca asked.

"Frequent psychotherapy sessions, I suppose," George replied. He didn't want to say anything about medication; Keyes's words still echoed in his ears, the words about how George would probably need to be medicated. Keyes had been right about everything- George hating Keyes but hating himself more, wanting to die, him being with Elliot, and more. He didn't want to prove Keyes right about this, too.

"What about the other standard treatments?" Rebecca asked pointedly.

"It depends on the case," George said evasively.

"Do you think you would benefit from medication?" Rebecca pressed.

"I don't think… Not really, no," George said with a frown.

"Even though psychotherapy alone doesn't seem to be doing you any good?" Rebecca pressed. "You still don't think medication is appropriate for you?"

"If you're going to prescribe me something, I'm not going to fight with you about it. I'm a psychiatrist myself; I'm obviously not opposed to medication. So could you just tell me what your intentions are?" George requested tiredly. As much as he hoped not to be put on medication, he also wanted to leave the small room as soon as possible. His agitation and anxiety were almost overwhelming.

"Just a few more questions," Rebecca assured him. "How long have you been feeling depressed? I think I can assume that your anxiety-related symptoms have been ongoing."

"Yes you can, and as for the depression… that's more complicated. I felt it at first, mostly because I was still in physical pain, but then the depression mostly faded to the anxiety. It was still there, but not as prominent. It's been awful ever since the trial started, though. That's how a lot of things are- they had been getting better, but now they're worse than ever. Like my feelings that I deserve what happened, and my inability to feel safe around anyone, especially men, and… and my feelings that dying would be easier than trying to get through this," George said. He set his hand over his pants pocket for a minute.

Rebecca nodded and started writing in George's file while she spoke to him. "My official diagnosis for you is Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and severe clinical depression. I'm going to write a prescription for some SSRI antidepressants, and some sleep medicine. I may add some off-label medications, like a beta-blocker, if the PTSD doesn't improve soon. Finally, I'd also like to increase the frequency of our sessions so that you have at least two a week, possibly three if you don't improve."

George nodded and stood, silently accepting her decision. He wished medication wasn't necessary, but it had been inevitable, like everything Keyes had said. Keyes had said he'd break George down, and he had been right. Keyes had said George would do more to himself mentally- as much, if not more, than Keyes himself had done- by blaming himself, and he had been right about that, too. Then Keyes had said he'd need medication… and he was right. Again. Keyes understood him better than he had ever understood his patients, George thought bitterly.

George walked back into the waiting room with a weary, resigned sigh. The concerned look he saw on Elliot's face was almost more than he could handle- he didn't want to cause Elliot more worry. Elliot was stressing himself over him too much already.

"What's wrong?" Elliot asked as he saw the look on George's face. "Are you okay?" He gently wrapped his arms around George.

"I'm okay, I guess. Just worn out," George replied tiredly. It was the truth, except for the omission of his suicidal thoughts. "I've been sleeping so much lately, but I still feel so tired… I just want to sleep."

"Well, you can regroup when we get home," Elliot said quietly. "I know you've had a rough time, but if you can just hang in there for a little while longer, the trial will be over, and that will take a lot of stress away. Even with the break, it's still on your mind and stressing you out, which I think is making the flashbacks, panic attacks, and nightmares worse. You'll feel at least a little better once you see those bastards being sentenced to life in prison."

George nodded and thought, "If I wasn't going to be dead by then, that is." But what he said was, "I suppose so."

"What did Rebecca say in the session?" Elliot asked, pressing a soft kiss to the top of George's head.

"It was basically a mental status exam. Seeing how I'm coping with everything, making sure I have no suicidal ideation. I'm also being put on medication, which should help. Hopefully," George sighed.

Elliot made a disproving noise; George knew he was opposed to psychiatric medication in all but the most extreme circumstances. "Why's she putting you on medication?"

"Because she thinks it'll help," George said with a hint of sadness. "And what was your session like? You said it was pretty exhausting."

Elliot sighed. "It was very exhausting. I told her about my anger and fear and everything. And I said how worried about you I've felt lately." He decided not to mention the fact that he felt responsible for George's situation, not wanting to increase George's guilt.

Elliot squeezed George's shoulder reassuringly, and George nodded, returning the embrace.

Elliot held him for a moment before George stood, pulling Elliot with him. "Let's get out of here, El," he murmured.


	56. Chapter 56

George stayed deep in thought over the next hour. He barely noticed that Elliot didn't drive home right away, instead opting to get George's new prescriptions filled first.

He stared out the window, thinking about the trial. It was clear that he wouldn't be able to go through with his suicide plan for quite some time, and that meant he had to continue with the trial- unless he managed to convince Elliot and Alex that he couldn't testify. He had thought that his plan would succeed and make it so he didn't have to deal with anything anymore, but since that wasn't the case, he knew he had to stop testifying.

Then again, it would infuriate his attackers if they didn't have the chance to terrorize him…

He shivered, but shook the thought out of his head. Even though they were right, it didn't matter. They'd get what they wanted in the end.

He continued to shiver; the mere thought of his attackers was making him panic. He wanted to tell Elliot to drive somewhere far away, not telling anyone where they were going, and stay there until they were sure his attackers could do no more harm.

Elliot noticed that George was lost in his thoughts. He waited until he had dropped George's prescriptions off, then he stopped in the parking lot to talk to him.

"George?" he asked softly. He set a hand on George's shoulder, and immediately, George flinched hard enough to collide with the door.

George bit his lip and grasped his shoulder. "What, Elliot?" he hissed.

"I'm sorry," Elliot muttered guiltily. He had scared George- again. How did he always end up hurting George, no matter what he did?

"Do you want to sit in the back seat with me?" Elliot asked, trying to assure himself as much as George.

George nodded slowly and climbed over the seat after him, setting his head in Elliot's lap with a sigh. One thing, at least, was improving- his fear of Elliot wasn't really there anymore. It was just a nagging worry, easily pushed aside. Everything else may have been an incredible struggle, but at least this was finally under control; a definite blessing.

Elliot idly stroked George's hair and gathered his thoughts. "George, do you want to talk?" he asked. "You seem to prefer talking to me, or at least someone you're close to…"

George shook his head, but then he nodded, deciding it was better to tell Elliot sooner than later. "Elliot, I can't do the trial anymore. I can't do it."

"You're sure?" Elliot asked softly.

George nodded. "I'm sure. I can't keep listening to others saying how I was when I was found, and how my attackers 'thought I consented'. I can't stand the knowledge that the other victim's families are there, wondering why they let me survive and not the others… I know there are only a few days left, but I can't do it. I'm sorry-"

"George, please don't apologize," Elliot requested gently. "I suspected it might come to this. I don't think your testimony is needed anymore, so it shouldn't be a problem."

"Okay," George murmured. "Can you talk to Alex for me?" Elliot nodded. George closed his eyes and huffed in frustration. "I'm so pathetic. I can't even finish the trial, I can't even fight my own battles-"

"George, it's okay, really," Elliot murmured reassuringly. "You aren't doing anything wrong. It'll be fine."

"You're wrong," George argued, voice wavering. "I'm doing plenty wrong, just like they said… and I can't think of one way that this will turn out fine. It isn't going to get better at all. And I don't deserve for it to get better, anyway."

Elliot closed his eyes and held him closer, wishing he could ease George's overwhelming depression. "I love you," he whispered.

George sighed. "I love you too, and I appreciate you being here for me. I'm trying not to feel guilty and not to blame myself. I know it's unhealthy and it's basically me torturing myself mentally, like Keyes did, and I should stop before I make my mental state worse. I'm trying to stop this, but it's difficult." He turned over and kissed Eliot softly.

Elliot returned the kiss, hoping that it showed his emotions- his love and his concern, his desire for George to recover, and his desire to be there for him.

He pulled away after a moment. "I don't know how long it'll take for you to recover, or what exactly needs to happen for you to be able to, but I'll do whatever it takes. I'll do anything to make this work."

George wished he could believe that Elliot's best would be enough to help him, but he'd lost all hope. There was only one way out, and even though he wouldn't be able to take it until he was alone, he still planned to, the first chance he got.

Elliot kissed the top of George's head, arms wrapping securely around his shoulders. He slid one hand under George's shirt, gently rubbing his back and kneading the tense muscles.

George exhaled slowly and rested his head on Elliot's chest. He wrapped his arms around Elliot's waist and sighed, relaxing slightly at the sound of Elliot's heartbeat. He let his thoughts wander, struggling to keep his thoughts away from his attackers, and, hoping a conversation would keep him distracted, looked up at Elliot again and asked, "Have you told anyone at the 1-6 about… about us? Nora's the only person I've told… I still don't talk to anyone too much, except you two."

"Olivia knows about us," Elliot said quietly. "Or, at least, she knows I have feelings for you. I told her, when you were on life support. And I think the Captain figured it out, too… he knows me well, and some of the things he's said to us makes me think he knows. I'd like to tell everyone else, though, when you're ready to start taking to other people again."

"Okay," George said with an unenthusiastic nod.

"I think your prescriptions should be ready by now. When we get home, we can talk to Alex," Elliot said. George nodded again, and they returned to the front seat. Elliot got George's prescription for the drive-thru pharmacy, and that was the last they spoke until they got home. Elliot kept the radio on so that George wouldn't get panicky.

* * *

"Are you sure George can't testify?" Alex asked with a slight disbelieving tone in her voice.

Elliot shifted the phone from one ear to the other. "I'm sure, Alex. He can't do this anymore. He's falling apart, and if he keeps doing this it'll get worse."

"Did he tell you that?" Alex asked pointedly.

Elliot felt his frustration boil. "Alex-" Elliot pinched the bridge of his nose- "He told me he couldn't handle it anymore."

"Can I talk to him?" She pressed. Elliot sighed- there was no reasoning with her.

"Fine, but Alex, if you upset him in any way, I swear to god…" He trailed off, too livid at the thought of anyone upsetting George to complete the sentence. "Just come over to my apartment. And whatever you do, don't be as tough on him as you can be with other reluctant victims. That's the last thing he needs right now."

"I won't," Alex promised.

"Why do you want to convince him to testify, anyway? Haven't you gotten all the testimony you need already?" Elliot asked.

"Almost," Alex said. "We're really close, but Linda wants to cross-examine him one more time. I think it's as much of a mind trick as anything, but there's not much I can do."

"Alright, then," Elliot said, resigned. "See you soon."

They hung up, and Elliot walked over to the sofa. George was lying on his stomach, trying to lose himself in an old TV show. Elliot knelt in front of him and pressed his lips to George's temple, whispering, "Are you okay?"

"I guess so." George muttered.

Elliot knew that his question had been pointless, but it would have reassured him if George had tried to pretend otherwise and had said yes anyway. He sighed and shook his head before continuing. "Alex wants to talk."

"Does she want to talk, or try to convince me to testify?" George asked wearily.

Elliot gave a grim smile. "The latter, I think."

"Fine, but I need you to stay with me." George said.

"As if I'd actually leave you alone with another person," Elliot said. The words had an almost jovial tone to them, but they both knew Elliot meant them. He had said he was going to protect George, and he meant it- even though in this case he was protecting him from mental harm. Mental harm was still dangerous, at this point.

George rolled onto his side and Elliot moved to lay down behind him. He wrapped his arms around George, his hands resting on George's stomach, and George grabbed his wrists to hold them there. He gave a deep sigh.

"What are you thinking about?" Elliot asked quietly. He kissed the back of George's head.

George took a breath and started to reply, but he shook his head. "I don't want to ruin your mood."

"My mood's ruined already, because I can't be happy unless you are too," Elliot said softly. The words didn't sound as comforting or romantic as they had in his head, but George got the meaning behind them. He gave a forced smile and turned around, kissing Elliot slowly.

"I love you," George said quietly.

"You too," Elliot replied. George rested his head on Elliot's shoulder and breathed deeply. Elliot held him and tried to think of something he could say, to get George talking, or to reassure him- anything, really.

George sighed and looked at the sofa, idly tugging a loose thread. After a moment he closed his eyes, as though his thoughts caused him pain. "Elliot, do you think… if my attackers were found not guilty, do you think they'd try to hurt me again? I think they might, but I also think it's just as likely that they wouldn't…"

Elliot paused. He didn't think it would happen, but he didn't think it was impossible, either, and he didn't enjoy entertaining the notion. "I don't know either. They could, I guess, but that's how it is when anyone gets released. We both know that. Some clean their act up, some don't. I don't think it's too likely that they'd go for you again, though, because it seems like they did what they wanted to do already. But it's a moot point anyway, because they will be found guilty. You're safe from now on."

George nodded and opened his mouth to speak again, but the doorbell rang. Elliot gave an apologetic look and kissed him, before walking over to the doorway and letting Alex in.

"Hey," George greeted softly as Alex walked in. He was nervous and edgy, but he and Alex had been close since George had joined the special victims unit. She had been extremely upset when she found out what had happened to him, Elliot had said. Everyone George knew had been, but she had been more vocal about it.

Elliot sat next to George and, purposefully, wrapped a possessive arm around him. George was surprised; they hadn't done more than casual touching in the presence of others, except for when Elliot had guided him to the sofa the night Keyes had been caught- and this wasn't quite the same.

Then he understood that Elliot was trying to send a message to Alex, that he wasn't to be messed with. It was an immature idea, but George still enjoyed the gesture, and it could end up helping in case Alex accidentally went too far. George gave Elliot a small, appreciative smile and leaned into the embrace.

Alex immediately noticed the body language the two were sending. "Are you two… together?"

George nodded silently in response, and Elliot said, "Yeah, we are."

"That explains a lot," Alex noted, thinking back to the night Keyes had been caught. It completely explained the way they'd acted ever since George had been found. Alex had known Elliot to be extremely protective, but he rarely went this far.

She didn't bother wondering about where Elliot's sexual orientation- or what she thought it was- fit into the equation, or the mental health concerns about a victim entering a relationship so soon. She knew Elliot and George had already worked that out for themselves.

"Well… George, are you okay?" Alex asked softly.

"Not really," George admitted.

The fact that George was actually saying that shocked her. She had always known George to be so hardy. Not outright tough, like Fin or Elliot, but sturdy, able to withstand extreme pressure without any outward signs of distress. Even when he'd been attacked by Matthew Brodus and had suffered wounded pride in addition to the concussion, he'd still dealt with it rather quickly.

She looked her friend over. George's physical wounds had all either healed or turned into scars, and very few of the scars were visible. But the presence of scars in and of itself was upsetting. And she could see that in several aspects, George's recovery had plateaud . His skin had lost some of its pallor, but it had never regained the healthy tone, either. And he no longer looked as painfully thin as he had in the hospital, but he was still quite underweight.

"George," She began, "I- I know this has been hard for you, and for Elliot too. And I know you don't think you can testify anymore. But you can do this, I know you can."

George swallowed hard. After a second, he exhaled slowly and said, "It'll be hard, but I think… I think I can stick it out, if there isn't much of the trial left."

"There isn't," Alex assured him. "We are so close to being done, and you only have to testify one more time. One more time on the stand, and then you can start to move on. You won't have to set foot in the courthouse again-" She cut herself off as she realized what she was saying, that she didn't think George would continue to be a forensic psychiatrist. Part of her wanted to believe that he would, but she knew deep down that his career was over, at least as far as active roles went. And judging by the lack of reaction from Elliot and George, they knew, too.

"You really aren't going to set foot in a courthouse again after this, are you?" She asked for affirmation.

"No," George said simply, shaking his head.

"So what are you going to do after this?" Alex asked.

George sighed wearily. "I don't know." And that would have been the truth even if he wasn't planning to commit suicide; he still wouldn't have been able to guess where he might go from here. "Maybe I can become a university professor, or something. Or, if I'm lucky, I could get a job working from home."

But the luckiest possibility of all, George thought, would be dying before he had to think about it.

A strange feeling came over him then, one that unnerved him. It was as though he had already died, and was a ghost eavesdropping on a conversation between two living people. He couldn't understand how or why it had started, and when it didn't cease after a whole minute- during which Alex listed ideas about where he could work that he only vaguely registered- he decided he had to retreat until he pulled himself together.

"I'm going to get some water," he announced when Alex finished speaking. "You want anything? We don't have anything alcoholic, but otherwise we're pretty much set."

"No, thanks," Alex said.

"Elliot?" George asked. Elliot shook his head, and leaned forward to talk to Alex more when George left the room.

After walking as fast as he could with seeming suspicious, he leaned against the kitchen sink, trying to steady himself. The dead feeling wasn't good, but it wasn't exactly abnormal for someone in his situation either. Part of it was dissociation, part of it was the fact that he was so set on dying that it felt like a foregone conclusion, and thus like he was already dead.

But it was still unsettling. It only added to his feeling that he was falling apart at the seams.

Closing his eyes as he filled a glass of water and drank it, he thought deeply about his situation. It was becoming still clearer that he couldn't continue to live, even if he deserved the pain of living. He just had to find a way to pull it off.

He waited for several minutes, the dead feeling slowly draining away. When it was gone, he steeled himself, breathing deep, slow, even. Then he turned around and started walking to the door, ready to rejoin Alex and Elliot in the living room.


	57. Chapter 57

_He was shivering violently, teeth chattering so hard that they cut his bottom lip. The temperature was subfreezing, and he was lying exposed, with not even a sheet to cover him up._

_He closed his eyes and let his mind wander. Elliot would take care of him when he got out of here. After he got discharged from the hospital, George decided, he'd drag Elliot to his favorite restaurant and eat until his stomach felt like it was going to explode. Then they'd go to Central Park and take a carriage ride together, and he'd fall asleep on Elliot's shoulder. Then Elliot would wake him up and half guide, half carry him to the car, and they'd go home. He'd take his meds, and then Elliot would lay with him…_

_His attackers walked back in the room, and George bit back a groan of dread. He just wanted to go **home**. He was so tired, he just needed someone to rescue him..._

_The leader pulled out a lighter and lit it, and the others held George still while it was dragged across his chest and stomach. He whimpered, moaned, fought frantically against him, but the only movement he managed made the lighter burn a larger area of skin instead._

_He closed his eyes, trying to breathe slowly when he realized he was hyperventilating. Elliot, he thought again. Any time now, Elliot would burst through those doors and save him, scoop him up in his arms and carry him to an ambulance. He'd protect him, stay by his side through the questioning and the rape kit, the painful treatments, being given the sedatives. Elliot would hold his hand and whisper that it was okay, even though it wasn't at all. He'd hold him as he fell asleep and make him feel safe again. And then Nora would fly in and she'd sit with him, stroking his forehead like she'd done when they were little. They'd stay with him and make him feel safe again._

_But the pain... The lighter was being dragged over his back now, the skin burning and blistering, and he barely held in his cries, barely managed to keep his moans quiet. The attackers liked it when he showed them that he was in pain, as long as he didn't ask them to stop, so he tried to keep as quiet as possible. It was the best revenge he could give right now._

_He gasped, feeling a sharp object slicing his burned skin. Tears formed in his eyes and he cried out, flailing his arms to try and knock the men away. They reprimanded him severely, slicing off a large ribbon of skin from his back, and he whimpered quietly. The blood helped to soothe his skin just a little, but not enough to make the pain tolerable. It was overwhelming._

_This was too much- he wasn't going to survive. Everything hurt. Every sinew in his body. He was weak and dizzy, and he was close to passing out from hunger. He was dangerously dehydrated and his wounds were becoming infected._

_"I'm going to die here," he thought in dismay. "Elliot won't come in time..."_

_They hauled him to his feet, another groan slipping from his lips in protest, and pushed him against the wall. One of the men took off his belt and-_

_And his whole world dissolved into pain. A blow that hard would have been unbearable to begin with, but they targeted the same part of his back that they had just burned. Lights flashed in front of his eyes, a tortured scream ripped from his throat, laughter echoed in his ears, he was going to pass out from pain, he was sure of it-_

_But they caught on. They stopped, and as hard as he tried to find his balance, the room was spinning violently around him. He dry heaved, but there wasn't anything in his stomach._

_His vision was blurry; he was on the verge of collapsing. When his knees buckled, legs giving out from under him, they let him fall, then one of them tugged him up again. George moaned faintly, the sound weak even to his own ears. The moan sent pain flaring through his throat, and the air caught in his chest and made him cough._

_As close as he was to passing out, and as much as he wanted to at this point, the attackers left him alone just long enough for the pain to get below that threshold._

_They whipped his back again, and a whimper escaped him. Inside his mind, he cried out for Elliot and Nora. The need to see them again, just to see their faces and hear their voices, was so overwhelming that it made him cry- along with the pain._

_"Elliot, I can't do this anymore!" he screamed silently. "I'm going to die! The pain is too much and even if that doesn't kill me, they're going to stop giving me water and let me dehydrate anyway!"_

_"Just hold on!" The Elliot in his mind screamed back. "Just stay strong, we'll find you soon. You're so brave, George, just hold out a while longer. I'll find you, I promise."_

_Another lash. Another order from his attackers to say he deserved it. His body complied automatically, and he barely heard himself saying, in a hoarse croak, "I deserve it, I deserve it…"_

_"Elliot," he whimpered. "I can't, Elliot, I just can't hold on anymore! I give up, Elliot, I'm going to ask them to kill m-"_

_"Don't you dare!" Elliot yelled. "Don't you dare give up! Just tell them what they want to hear and do what they tell you. When we find you, I'll be here for you and you can start to heal, I promise."_

_George would have retorted, but then the pain spiked and he could no longer form coherent thoughts. His body was completely limp and his back was a bloody mess, the skin shredded and broken._

_He moaned again, leaning against the wall for support and giving in to the overwhelming fatigue. He almost fell asleep standing up, but then they pulled him off the wall. They made him lie on his throbbing, stinging back, and one of them growled, "Don't even try that shit. You know you deserve this."_

_The words went right over his head. He gazed uncomprehendingly at them, wanting nothing more than to sleep. A red flag went up in the back of his head, but he couldn't for the life of him connect the dots to figure out why._

_He turned his head to the side despondently as one of them moved between his legs. The pain of intrusion, especially without any lubricant or preparation, was causing him more pain than he could bear, but he managed to bear it anyway, somehow._

_But before he even realized what was happening, his body gave in and he was enveloped by darkness._

_ "You don't know to eat with chopsticks?" George asked, laughing._

_"Hey, don't laugh!" Elliot said indignantly. "It's not like it's the easiest skill in the world!"_

_"Actually, yes, it is," George said, grinning. "How about I teach you how?"_

_Elliot smiled back at him, hugging him tightly and kissing him. "I," he said, pulling away, "Would be delighted."_

_"Okay, then," George said. "What do you want to do tomorrow?"_

_"What do you want to do?" Elliot returned._

_"Just being here is enough," George said. He sighed and leaned back into Elliot's arms, eyelids heavy._

_"I love you," Elliot whispered, kissing his forehead._

_"You too," George replied fuzzily._

_Elliot shifted George's form so that his head was resting on his shoulder. He ran his hands down George's back, rubbing the muscles gently. George knew he was safe, protected, and he felt so comfortable. He sighed again and closed his eyes. Elliot's soft voice filled his ears as he drifted off. "I'll protect you, George, I promise. You're safe here."_

_When he woke up, he was in bed, covered by a thick blanket and lying next to Elliot, who was asleep. Careful not to wake him, George slid out of bed and walked to the window._

_The night sky looked so pretty. There was something about the city lights, George thought contentedly. He inhaled slowly and watched the city, more relaxed than he could remember feeling in a long time._

_Eventually, he crawled back into bed, nuzzling into Elliot's neck. He watched the older man sleep, running his fingers over his face._

_Why did his body ache and burn so badly?_

_George floated towards consciousness, giving a quiet moan of pain. The memories crashed into him, and he almost stopped trying to wake up, but he knew what they would do to him if he didn't wake up soon._

_He knew something was wrong the instant he opened his eyes. He could barely see, everything was so blurry, and he just didn't have the strength to move. His head pounded and his heart seemed to flutter instead of beat._

_He heard several vague voices, but he couldn't make out a single word of it. A brutally hard slap fell on his face, but it did no good._

_"Starvation and resulting low blood sugar," his brain filled in. His body just didn't have enough fuel to do anything._

_"Come on, you pathetic piece of shit!" One of the men screamed in his ear. George flinched as the man cut into his stomach._

_He tried so hard to get his body to do something, but he just couldn't. He felt himself being yanked into a sitting position, and his head lolled forward. Dark spots invaded his vision; he slumped, on the verge of unconsciousness._

_He just couldn't move. He was so helpless. He wouldn't even be able to fight if they decided to kill him right then and there._

_Something was set close to his face and he parted his lips, just enough to accept whatever it was. It was some sweet-tasting liquid. Why were they giving it to him? He wondered. He couldn't come up with a reason. Still, he swallowed it gratefully. It felt nice on his parched throat, and his energy slowly returned. It must've been something with a lot of sugar. Soda, maybe, or an energy drink like Red Bull._

_He still felt shaky and weak, only semi-conscious. But at least he could move now. His eyes fluttered open, and his attackers' faces hovered above him._

_"Nnngh… sorry…" he whispered, remembering what they had ordered him to say the first time this had happened. "Don't… deserve… Sorry for…" His eyes slid shut again._

_Something hot was set on the bottom of his foot. He whimpered, trying to get his body to cooperate. "Didn't deserve… M'sorry…" he whispered desperately._

_But that wasn't enough for them. They continued burning and cutting him until he was incoherent, and when he blacked out again soon after, it was only a temporary break. It continued for several hours; he'd wake up, receive a little food, apologize for it, continue to be tortured, then lose consciousness again, until finally he'd had enough to eat to stop the shaking, blurry vision, and overwhelming weakness, and they stopped feeding him. But the burning and cutting never stopped._

_Through it all, he never stopped dreaming of being back home with Elliot, and seeing Nora again._

Alex and Elliot jolted when they heard a loud cry coming from the kitchen. They rushed into the room and found George on his knees, trembling violently and whimpering, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I deserve it- you're right, I deserve it! Elliot, Nora, please, I need you, please help me, get me out of here, please…"

Elliot's heart didn't just break. It shattered.

He closed his eyes for a moment and forced himself to calm down, knowing that he couldn't afford to become upset until George was okay. "Alex, could you get him a glass of water?" he asked, kneeling next to George and setting a hand on his shoulder.

"Y-yes, of course," Alex stammered, grabbing the same cup George had just filled a few minutes earlier and joining the two on the floor. She'd seen enough victims have flashbacks on the stand or during a line-up to be able to recognize the signs of a flashback immediately. And from what she could tell, it was one of the most intense she'd seen in a long time.

"George," Elliot said, gentle but firm. "George, it's me, it's Elliot. Alex is right here too. You're safe in our apartment; they can't hurt you anymore. No one is going to hurt you. Listen to me breathe, okay?" He took several deep, slow breaths and rubbed George's back. "See, you're okay. I promise, you're not in danger anymore and they can't hurt you. They're all in Rikers."

George's gaze went right past them, eyes wide and distant. That told Elliot that George was too far gone to be brought out of the flashback quickly or easily; the worse and more intense a flashback, the more distant he looked, like he was staring at something far away. That was why the earliest mentions of PTSD called it the thousand-yard-stare.

Elliot felt George shaking violently under his arm. The smaller man whimpered, giving a choked sob and squirming against the men who had hurt him so badly.

"I'm going to grab your hand, okay, George?" Elliot said, moving slowly. He reached his free hand out and grabbed George's, squeezing it gently and massaging his palm. He leaned forward and started to whisper in his ears. "Remember the time we got caught in a blizzard at a café? It was one of the first times you and I talked outside of work. It was snowing, and we had been at a diner to talk about a case. But instead, it turned into a blizzard and the power went out. We were stuck there for an hour without light or heat. And you just pulled out your laptop to let it light the place up a little and talked like nothing was going on. You never opened up about yourself that much, but you told me a little and let me see some of who you really were. When the power came back on, we were so hungry that we were ready to storm the kitchen," Elliot laughed quietly. "The got the food to us eventually, but not nearly soon enough."

"You're so kind, George, and I know this is hard, but you're safe now. You're with me and I'm going to protect you. Keyes and the other assholes are going to spend the rest of their lives in Rikers for what they did to you and the others. Just give it time, keep talking to Rebecca, Nora and me, and things will be okay. You're not there anymore, George, you're okay," Elliot murmured.

George finally began to relax. The tension in his muscles eased just a little and he seemed to be listening to what Elliot was saying. Elliot nodded approvingly. "See, you're okay. No one's going to hurt you anymore. I'm going to wrap my arm around your shoulder, okay?" Elliot squeezed George's shoulder gently with his arm.

George snapped back to awareness, giving a small gasp. "El," he choked, shoulders going limp.

"Here, drink this, okay?" Elliot requested, handing the cup of water to George. George's hand trembled a little, but it steadied, and he took a few shaky gulps, gradually calming down.

"Are you back with us?" Elliot asked softly, stroking George's hair.

George shuddered, nodding. He blinked, and his eyes seemed to refocus again, though he still looked dazed and distressed. But the flashback was over, at least.

He looked around the room, swallowing hard. When his gaze fell on Alex, he bit his lip and lowered his head, ashamed.

"Shh, George, she's not going to judge you," Elliot soothed, though he knew that that wouldn't help much. He was already convinced that everyone despised and scorned him, and he was also convinced that being tortured had reinforced his contemptibility. He only barely trusted Elliot and Nora, and Elliot knew that nothing he said would be able to convince George that anyone else liked and respected him. Elliot could tell that George was already losing what little trust Alex had coaxed out of him.

"I'm sorry," George whispered, still staring at the tiled floor. "I'm so pathetic. You shouldn't've had to see that."

Alex started to protest, but George just shook his head, pulled Elliot's arm off him, and whispered, brokenly, "I'm going to lie down. See you tomorrow, Alex."

And with that, he stood and walked away, looking dejected and thoroughly ashamed. His shoulders slumped, every bit of his body language radiating defeat and depression.

Elliot watched him retreat, feeling his heart breaking yet again. He swallowed against the lump in his throat and took a deep breath.

"I don't understand this, Alex," Elliot choked. His eyes were wet. "How could anyone do that to someone as sweet as George?"

"I don't know, Elliot," Alex said, looking at the empty doorframe. "I ask myself that with every victim. There are never any answers and George's case is no different."

She sighed deeply, straightening as she stood. "I'd better get going. I'll see you two tomorrow."

She walked to the front door and exited, leaving Elliot alone and lost.


	58. Chapter 58

He lay on his side, shivering heavily as he burrowed into the blanket. He buried his face in a pillow, trying to block out the memories. He felt like he would enter another flashback any second if he didn't use all is mental energy to ground himself here.

He felt sick and tired, and he ached, bone deep, like he'd been beaten head-to-toe, like the wounds had been inflicted on him again. He could feel the bruises, even if they weren't there anymore. He could feel the cuts, burns, and welts. And the ache inside him…

He shivered again, both from fear and cold, and curled into himself to try to conserve body heat. He was so tired of this. So tired of hurting, so tired of constantly reliving the torture, so tired of the panic, anxiety, and depression. Tired of feeling empty except for the pain, tired of being haunted, tired of living at all.

Why had this morning happened like it had? He had had it all planned out perfectly. He would have shot himself in the heart so that they could have an open-casket funeral. He didn't have to worry about his organs being saved for donation anymore, because they had been damaged by the septic shock, and although they functioned well enough for him, doctors wouldn't want to put them in a sick patient. And he wouldn't have to worry about missing the shot either, because his years of FBI training had helped him to have a sure aim, so that even if he flinched as the gun went off, it would still hit somewhere fatal. He'd die instantly, or close to it, and he would finally be free of this.

But instead, Elliot had been sent home and everything had been ruined. More pain, more flashbacks. And even though he didn't deserve the peace death would bring, even though his suicidal state proved how pathetic he was, he just couldn't take any more. And his self-hatred only added to it- hating himself so much made him more desperate to escape himself.

He didn't want to kill himself with Elliot in the apartment with him, but now there really was no choice. Who knew when Elliot would leave next? Who knew if he would realize what was going through his head and try to stop him before then? It was now or never.

But he didn't feel strong enough to get out of bed, let alone grab the gun. The panic and anxiety wore him out like nothing else, and the nightmares were keeping him from sleeping well, too. He hadn't doubted his patients when they'd said the depression and anxiety attacks made them unable to do much of anything, but it was just one of those things that a person couldn't understand until they'd experienced it themselves.

And the cold wasn't helping things, either. He felt frozen, inside and out, and he wished that there were more blankets on the bed that he could pile on top of him.

The cold and the quiet made it hard to ground himself in reality, and he had to focus all of his mental energy to keep from entering another flashback. He had to keep reminding himself of where he was, the specific details of the room.

He bit his lip. He wanted to grab the gun and end it, but something was stopping him. He would do it later, he decided, as soon as Elliot left him alone. When he had enough energy to accomplish the task and when the timing was right.

But for now, he needed to talk to Elliot. Just to make sure… He wasn't sure what, exactly, but he just felt an overwhelming need to talk to him.

"Elliot?" he called. He'd heard the front door opening and closing a minute earlier, and he hoped it meant Alex had left. They had always been close, but he didn't want her to see him anymore, not when he was so pathetic.

"Coming!" Elliot called back. George heard his footsteps a moment later.

Elliot wiped the tears from his eyes when he heard George calling for him. He had been overwhelmed after Alex left, and he had broken down, agonized thoughts echoing in his head. Why anyone would do this to George, why George would think he deserved it, why George wasn't getting better. He wondered helplessly if it ever _would_ get better.

He sighed, deciding he'd talk to Olivia later, and maybe his kids. That would help him, at least a little. He doubted there was anything more he could do for George.

He stood and walked towards the bedroom, shaking his head sadly at the sight of George lying on his side, legs curled into him, looking completely broken. He stood next to George and leaned down, whispering, "Are you okay?"

Worrying for a moment that George was coming down with something, he pressed his lips to George's forehead gently, trying to gauge his temperature. He didn't have a fever- on the contrary, he felt cold.

George shook his head. "It… It hurts," he whispered.

Elliot sat down next to him, reaching under the blanket to rub his back. George shivered, but seemed to relax a little at the contact.

"Elliot," George said, voice still a whisper. He closed his eyes, struggling. Part of him wanted to tell Elliot everything, but most of him just wanted Elliot here, wanted to hear Elliot's voice and feel his touch, and the rest of him just wanted everything to stop.

George opened his eyes again. "The flashbacks…" He swallowed. "It feels like a combination of the worst flu imaginable and a bad acid trip. It _hurts_, Elliot, it hurts so much…" Words weren't enough to describe it, really. The pain was like he was being tortured again and again, and his emotions only added to it.

Elliot stroked George's hair gently. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Is there anything I can do to help right now?"

George shrugged and leaned into Elliot's frame, and Elliot kissed his lips gently. George returned the kiss, but pulled away after a moment, looking troubled.

"Elliot, when I-" George tried to figure out how to phrase his question without tipping Elliot off, but couldn't figure out how. "When I was in the hospital-" He bit his lip. "At least once, you thought I was going to die. Would you have been mad at me if I had stopped fighting? What would you have done if I'd never made it out of the ICU?"

Elliot looked at him for a long moment. He thought about everything he and George had been through together, about how deep their connection had become. It had come so close to not happening at all.

He tried to figure out why George wanted to know, but it didn't take that long for him to arrive to a conclusion. With how little George thought of himself, he was probably expecting Elliot to be mad at him for everything that had happened, and probably thought that Elliot would have been mad at him if he hadn't had the strength to survive the systemic infection.

Of course, a darker motivation occurred to him, but he didn't want to entertain the notion. Surely George's morbid thoughts were just a result of him processing his ordeal, not- not _that_. And George would tell him if he was heading in that direction. He wanted to believe that was true, and might have had this happened a few days earlier, but because of that flashback, because of the night George had gotten himself intoxicated to cope instead of finding him, Elliot could no longer be sure of George's mental state.

His stomach plummeted. He tried to read George's body language for clues, but came up blank. He'd have to hope he could pick things up from George's questions and answers. But he wasn't a psychologist- would he be good enough?

"I wouldn't have been mad at you, George," Elliot said finally. "I would have been mad at a lot of people. I would have been mad at Keyes and the others for doing this to you, at the feds and the NYPD for not finding you, and at me for not telling you sooner and at not saving you, but I wouldn't have been mad at you. You're blameless in this, even if you can't see it. I'd spend every day missing you, and I'd wonder if we could have had what we had now. I'd come close to losing it every day when I walked into the precinct and you still weren't there. But I'd never get mad at you. I could never hate you."

Guilt rose up in George's heart, making him almost feel sick. He didn't deserve Elliot, he didn't deserve not to hurt, but here he was thinking only about how to end his own pain. He was being just as selfish as Keyes had said he was. "If you saw me like I did, you would. If you saw me like I actually am, you'd leave. You'd hate me as much as Keyes does," George said painfully.

"_No_, George," Elliot said firmly. He saw the pain in George's eyes and leaned forward, resting his chest over George's shoulder and embracing him. "Keyes is the one who deserves your hate, not you. I love you, and you deserve kindness and compassion, not what he did to you."

George shook his head, and tears formed in his eyes. "You don't get it. I love you, but there's a lot you don't know."

"Like?" Elliot challenged.

"You'll never see it," George said, moving out from under Elliot. "No, not never," he corrected himself. He looked out the window to avoid seeing Elliot's reaction. "One day, you'll-" He swallowed the lump in his throat. "One day, you'll realize you can do much better. You deserve better than damaged goods. All I'll ever bring you is pain, don't deny it; I've seen how much this hurts you. That's my fault. You were happier with Kathy and your kids and if I wasn't here, you could go back to them and be you again."

"George," Elliot whispered, setting a hand on his shoulder. George resisted the temptation to tug it off. "I… I don't want that. I love the kids and I love Kathy, but not like how I love you. I want to hurt, because I love you so much I'm willing to share your pain. Let me do that. Please?"

"No," George said, shaking his head. "You've done that enough. I can't let you do anymore."

"So what, are you just never going to talk to me again? Are you going to leave?" Elliot asked heatedly. "Is that it?"

George didn't answer. He was going to leave, but in a more complete way than Elliot thought. But he couldn't say it and he couldn't lie either.

"Look," Elliot said finally. "You've had a rough day. We both have. Tomorrow is the last of the trial and then we can go on vacation somewhere. There's too many triggers here, you were right. And once your pills kick in you'll start to feel a little better. Right now you're too stressed. So I'm going to go make us something to eat and let you cool down. When I come back we'll work things out. Okay?" He was worried about George, but he felt that he could help him calm down and stabilize. And then tomorrow, he'd call Rebecca with his concerns and get him evaluated before they left New York.

George sighed, deciding to play along. "Okay. I do love you."

"You too. I'll be back in a few minutes," Elliot said. He brushed his hand over George's forehead and stood, retreating from the room.

George pushed himself up and reached into the bedside drawer once Elliot had left. Here was his opportunity. But he couldn't yet. Not when Elliot thought he was mad at him. He wanted to end it so badly but he couldn't bear the thought of what it would do to Elliot. If he did it now, Elliot would think he'd done it in the heat of the moment because they had argued. That would mean Elliot would never realize the truth. He had to make sure Elliot would be able to deal with it when it happened so that Elliot would eventually to be able to see that he was better off without George in his life.

He would be rid of the pain and Elliot would be free of him. It was perfect.

He put the gun in his pocket. Soon, he thought, soon.

Sighing deeply, he closed the bedside drawer and stood up. He'd go talk to Elliot and help him with dinner, he decided. He'd make sure he said the things he needed to say and make sure Elliot was happy. He'd make sure Elliot didn't think it was anything he did that had caused him to commit suicide.

At least then he could die knowing he'd finally done something right. He could die knowing he'd taken a giant burden off Elliot's shoulders, one Elliot would be happier without even though he didn't realize it yet.

He walked out of the room and joined Elliot in the kitchen. Elliot was preparing some pasta by the stove. "Hey. You feeling better?" Elliot said as he saw George.

"Hey," George said softly. "I'm feeling a little calmer. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I understand," Elliot said, squeezing George's hand gently. "It must be difficult to accept all this right after a flashback."

"That's part of it. I just can't help but feel like I'm hurting you," George muttered. "I just want you to be happy."

"You make me happy," Elliot said. "Even if we're struggling right now. All I want is to be with you."

_"No you don't,"_ George thought. "I guess," he said. "I just… I love you more than words can say. I don't want your life to be ruined because of this or anything that might happen later."

"It won't be," Elliot said softly.

"Elliot," George said, looking at him carefully. "Do you promise? Do you promise that no matter what, you'll be okay? And if you aren't, you'll do what you need to do to get there again?"

Elliot nodded, knowing how serious George was about it. "I promise. You don't need to worry." Inside, he started worrying about George's mental state even more, worrying what his self-hatred would make him do. But George seemed to be calming down, and that was good.

"Just what I wanted to hear," George said, smiling softly. Now he had both Elliot and Nora's word that they would get help if they needed it. They hadn't known the real purpose when they'd said it, but he was confident they'd still do it without him. They'd be okay without him, and after a while they'd be even better.

All three of them would benefit from what he was about to do. He actually started to feel happy again as he realized that everything was falling into place perfectly. He only had to do this for a few more hours and then he'd be free. Now he could enjoy the time he had left with Elliot, and when he committed suicide, he could die peacefully.

"I love you. You're amazing," George said softly, hugging Elliot tightly.

Elliot looked down at him, a little surprised. "I love you too. I'm glad you're feeling better," he said, returning the hug and kissing the top of George's head.

George smiled into Elliot's chest.


	59. Chapter 59

A/N: Just a heads-up: if this story ever gets deleted from this site, I have it posted on others. Go to my profile to find the links. Thanks!

* * *

George sighed softly as he relaxed on the sofa, snuggling into Elliot's frame. He wrapped his arms around the taller man and set his head on his shoulder, stroking Elliot's chest lightly and giving a contented hum as Elliot massaged his head and neck.

Dinner had been calm and peaceful. No anxiety or flashbacks. No hopeless thoughts about how he deserved everything that had happened. Just him and Elliot, eating and even smiling when they talked. He'd even let Elliot talk him into eating a decent amount instead of just picking at the food like he had been doing.

They'd finished the meal a few minutes ago and, when Elliot had cautiously asked what he wanted to do, George had suggested just sitting together in the living room and enjoying each other's company.

Now he was just biding time, waiting until everything came together and enjoying Elliot as much as possible in the meantime. Elliot was so amazing, George thought a little wistfully. He'd miss him. He hugged Elliot tighter, breathing slowly.

It was starting to hurt, knowing that Elliot wouldn't miss him in return. He wished he had earned Elliot's love, or at the very least that he could think he had. And there was yet more proof that Keyes was right, George thought disgustedly. He was being so selfish.

He shook his head, trying to shake the thought away. He knew that, and it wouldn't matter in a few hours anyway; it would all be fixed. He didn't want to think about it now, he just wanted to enjoy this even though it proved how selfish and awful he was.

"Hey, George? We need to talk," Elliot said softly.

George swallowed nervously, shifting to look at him. "What's wrong?"

"I'm worried about you," Elliot said, setting his hand on George's cheek and stroking gently. "I know you're better now, but earlier you were so wound up. You've been acting off all day, actually. And I'm worried that talking to Rebecca didn't help you enough. I know the flashbacks only made everything worse for you, and even though you're feeling better than you have in days, it can't have gone away that easily."

George reached a hand up to hold Elliot's. "I'm okay- well, no, I'll _be_ okay. I just... It was a worse day than usual, but…" He paused, trying to think of a good way to explain things to Elliot. He knew that it was all too common for depressed people to suddenly brighten once they decided to commit suicide. It wasn't as well-known a sign as someone suddenly giving their possessions away or becoming obsessed with death, but it was still a warning sign. But even though George knew Elliot had to know that, he also knew that somehow Elliot wasn't putting the pieces together, and he had to keep it that way. He couldn't say anything that would clue Elliot in.

"Things are rough now, but they'll get better, you know?" he said softly. "The pain's going to lessen a little tomorrow. And aside from the flashbacks and panic attacks and everything, I had a good day. I got to spend it with you, and I got to talk to Nora earlier and tell her some things I needed to tell her. That's helped me feel better. You two make me happier than anyone else; you're everything to me."

"Thank you," Elliot said, leaning over and kissing George softly. "You mean so much to me, too." He squeezed George's hand. "But I'm still worried. I think you need more of a support system, you know? I know you aren't too comfortable around anyone else, but maybe we could find something that works."

"Maybe," George said. "I think you need it more than me, though. When was the last time you talked to your kids?"

Elliot smiled sadly. "The other day. I was going to call them again tomorrow. I can't believe Eli is getting so big- did you know he can talk on the phone now?"

"No, I didn't," George said, smiling softly. "I bet that was a shock for you."

"Yeah," Elliot said with a laugh. "He still doesn't know how to dial a number or anything, but he still loves it. He asks me to visit a lot and so do the others. The older ones also ask about you a lot, by the way. They want to get to know you since you're a part of my life now."

"You should go see them soon. They miss you and need you," George murmured.

"I will. But, you keep dodging the question," Elliot said, becoming serious again. "What we're doing now isn't working. Having so many uncontrollable flashbacks just isn't right. Do you need more appointments with Rebecca? Or do you need a different therapist? Maybe one of your colleagues can refer you to a specialist you don't know too well? I don't think Rebecca would mind- sometimes she isn't the best therapist for a situation, and she doesn't mind that."

George shrugged. "I don't know. Rebecca's okay; she helped us work some stuff out in the beginning, but… I don't know. Maybe."

"Just think about it," Elliot said. "Things shouldn't have gotten this bad. Something needs to change before it gets worse." He bit his lip.

"What's wrong, Elliot?" George asked softly.

"It… It hurts to see how much pain you're in when you have a flashback or a nightmare. It hurts knowing you were there for so long, alone and afraid… And the things they did…" Elliot swallowed. "And I didn't even do anything right. I didn't find you and nothing I did was, or is, enough to help you."

"Oh, Elliot," George said softly, hugging him. "That isn't true. It isn't your fault, El, nothing is. You did everything right. There just wasn't anything more you could have done, that's all. They were too determined not to let me go. And as amazing as you've been since I was found, developing PTSD and depression was inevitable for my situation. If anything, you should feel good that you managed to help this much for this long. I'm lucky to have you." He kissed Elliot softly.

Elliot smiled sadly, looking down at him. He brushed George's hair away from his face. "Thank you. I needed to hear that. I don't completely believe it, but if you don't blame me…" He trailed off.

"I don't," George assured him.

Elliot nodded. "That helps." He leaned back and looked at George again. Apparently, he didn't like what he saw, because he sighed and set a hand on George's cheek. "You always look so stressed," he murmured. "Even when we relax. I wish I could make it all go away."

"It'll go away in time," George said softly. Elliot nodded. "And your pain will go away too. You'll get over this."

"Yeah," Elliot said. "I guess so." He pulled George closer, hugging him. George went with the motion, allowing himself to be pulled closer.

"Hey, George?" Elliot said quietly, after a few minutes. "I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me."

George inhaled slowly, hoping Elliot wasn't about to ask outright if he was suicidal. He wouldn't be able to tell the truth, but he wasn't sure if he could lie to Elliot again.

"Do I need to be worried about you?"

George couldn't think of a way to respond to that.

"I trust you," Elliot continued. "I trust you to know your mental state well enough, and I trust you to tell me if you're in a crisis. Today you've really been worrying me. You keep deflecting when I try to talk to you and you've been closed off. You didn't do that before today; you were open with me. Something changed, and I don't know what. I need you to tell me."

"What happened, and do I need to be worried?" Elliot repeated.

George took a slow, shuddery breath. Hearing Elliot say how much he trusted him was hard.

"You probably should be," George admitted, hugging Elliot tighter. "I… I'm hurting, Elliot, more than you can know. I'm confused, and guilty, and… I don't know…" He paused. "I don't feel like myself anymore and I don't like it. I don't like who I am right now. And I don't like the things I'm thinking and feeling. They worry me-" _Worried_, he thought, because even though he knew they should worry him, they made perfect sense now- "and should probably worry you too."

"Thank you for being honest," Elliot said softly. He wasn't used to taking this role; he wasn't used to thinking like a psychologist. He had done it on occasion for a victim suffering from Rape Trauma Syndrome, but never for someone he knew. It was hard for him to show so much more emotion than he was used to, but it was worth it if it helped George. "Try to think of something we can change that will help you, okay?"

"Okay," George said softly.

"I'm going to take a shower," Elliot said. "Will you be okay?"

George nodded, managing not to show the guilt and sympathy he felt. Elliot was only human and was bound to make mistakes, but this one was going to create so many problems for him, for a while at least, before he got over it.

"George?" Elliot asked, hesitantly. "I think I know the answer, since this would be a huge step and everything, but would you like to join me? I've seen most of your scars, and it doesn't have to be about sex or anything, I was just thinking-"

George smiled sadly. "Not this time, Elliot. I'm not ready. Thanks for asking, though."

Elliot nodded. "Okay. Well, maybe some day." He moved his legs and George shifted off him. He kissed George softly before standing. "Be right back. Come get me if you need me, okay?" he said softly.

"Okay," George said, looking downwards.

Something inside George suddenly screamed for him to tell Elliot the truth. He didn't want to hurt Elliot, even if it meant he'd be better off in the long term. Elliot couldn't love him as much as he thought he did and he wouldn't if he knew what he was thinking, but- Elliot would still be unhappy at first.

He squeezed his hand into a fist. He had to do it soon before he changed his mind. He didn't want to kill himself with Elliot in the apartment, but he would if that was the only way.

"I love you," George said softly. "I know I've said that a lot today, but I need you to know it."

"Love you too," Elliot said, smiling. "Be back in a few minutes. When I get out, let's plan what we're going to do tomorrow, okay? If you still want to take a trip like you've been saying. I think it would do us both good."

"Sounds good," George said. "I have a few places in mind."

Once Elliot left the room and shut the bathroom door, George walked upstairs to the bedroom. He sat on the bed and closed his eyes, thinking deeply.

He had to do this before Elliot realized exactly what was wrong. He wasn't upset that Elliot knew something was wrong with him; George had proven himself to be high risk, and, of course, Elliot was right. But he was upset that he was thinking about suicide in the first place. He shouldn't feel depressed; he should feel happy that he had survived being tortured at all, and that Elliot was unconditionally there for him. It was better than he deserved- so much better.

He didn't want to commit suicide after all Elliot had done for him, but at the same time, he couldn't control his desire to end his life. He knew that the other victims, if they had survived, would probably have considered the same thing, but he still felt like a terrible person for wanting to do it. They didn't have their lives at all and yet he was trying to end his. But, he thought, he didn't deserve to live, while they had. He couldn't fix the latter situation, but the former… all it would take was one bullet, either to his brain stem or his heart, and it would be corrected instantaneously.

If Elliot would leave for a while, he could do it. It was only his fear of hurting Elliot that was holding him back. He didn't want Elliot to witness his violent death.

Maybe he could do something slower, he thought. He laid down on his shoulder, taking a deep breath as he grabbed the bottle of antidepressants. It was hard to commit suicide using them, especially without alcohol, but it could be done. He'd vomit most of it up, and he would be in sheer agony for several minutes, maybe even hours, until he went into respiratory arrest. It wasn't quite the peaceful falling asleep and never waking up again that it was often portrayed to be, but his goal wasn't a peaceful death- it was just death, at any cost short of causing his loved ones guilt.

But he'd have to be alone, so that no one could find him until it was too late. Or he could always just do it the easy way and jump off the fire escape as soon as Elliot left…

He started trembling violently. He felt like he wanted to die, but at the same time, the thought of death scared him. And then there was the fact that he didn't deserve the peace that death would bring, just like Keyes had said. He was such a coward. He deserved it, all of it.

George held his breath and looked in the bedside drawer. He retrieved Elliot's gun again and ran his thumb over the sleek metal and pressed it to his chest, closing his eyes. Wanting nothing more than to pull the trigger, it took every ounce of willpower he had to put the gun down, and even then, he couldn't keep it there.

He raised and lowered the gun several times, debating with himself over and over again. Elliot's feelings against his complete inability to bear the pain another second. The guilt over how much grief Elliot would feel if he killed himself against the fact that George was causing him just as much grief while still alive. His psychiatrist's brain telling him he could, and would, recover with the combination of medication and intense psychotherapy, versus the dark, hopeless, tortured mind of a victim, who had given up on the idea that he could be helped. Doctor Huang, top forensic psychiatrist and FBI agent, versus George, rape and torture victim. The different sides wrestled for dominance in his mind, fighting frantically, one half pleading for life, the other half pleading for death. Half of him wanted to live and recover, half of him just wanted peace, especially if it was the unshakeable peace death would bring; that half wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.

Closing his eyes, George wrapped an arm around himself. He knew the logical thing to do- tell Elliot to bring him to Bellevue and get him voluntarily admitted- and his mind was screaming at him to do it. But he couldn't bring himself to. One bullet could end all his pain, so why hadn't he shot himself already?

He agonized over the decision. He didn't want to bring harm to Elliot and Nora, but that was the only reason he had not to. It was an impossible choice- death would end the nightmare he'd been through, but it would hurt Elliot and Nora even though they would move on. Living would mean dealing with the memories, but he would still be with Elliot and Nora, even if that was selfish of him.

He touched the gun again and shivered at the memory of his attacker's gun on the back of his head. It had been so frightening when it had happened, but if it had happened that way instead… He bit his lip. He held the gun up again.

His heart pounded, as though it was trying to put its vote in. His heart wanted to keep beating. And Elliot wanted him to stay alive, too... He shook his head, and his hand shook even harder, so much so that he wouldn't be able to aim straight now. It seemed like fate didn't want him to take the easy way out. He could try again when he stopped shaking, but he knew Elliot would be out of the shower by then.

George let out a yell of anguish, desire, and rage, tears forming in his eyes. He set the gun next to him and turned to his stomach, burying his face in the pillows and letting it absorb his tears. He felt so _miserable _and every time he tried to do something about it, he failed and made it even worse. He just wanted to take his pain- and Elliot's and Nora's- away. Why couldn't he just do it?

He sobbed quietly, taking a shuddering breath. He just wanted to die in peace. Why was life determined to give him so much pain?

He just wanted the pain to stop. Was that really so much to ask?

_It must be_, he thought bitterly.


	60. Chapter 60

George forced himself to sit up after a moment. He sighed, rubbing his eyes, and tried to pull himself together. Elliot would surely be done showering soon, and George didn't want to alarm him when he came in.

He didn't want to hurt Elliot at all. Elliot was the best thing that had ever happened to him- Elliot was so much better than he deserved. And George wasn't sure how much longer he could keep lying to him, betraying his trust. It made him feel worse about himself every time he did it.

He hesitated, then picked the gun up and hid it in the bedside drawer as he made up his mind. He was already causing Elliot so much pain- what was a little more, especially when it would help in the long run? It was the least he could do, really.

He sat down on the bed, facing the window, resting his chin on one hand. It was hard to keep himself awake. He was so tired; he just wanted to sleep. He just wanted this to be done.

If only he'd been allowed to die in the hospital. If only Keyes had killed him, either while he had him or in the interrogation room.

He'd been afraid of death back then, and the anxiety from his near-death experience had only intensified it. But he felt different now. Even if what he'd seen and felt when he'd been so close to death had been terrifying and painful- instead of peaceful like most people reported-, it was still better than this.

And maybe since he actually wanted to die this time, unlike when he had flatlined, it would feel less frightening. Before Keyes had stopped torturing him, when George had all but given up on being found, there had been times when they had come so close to killing him. Times when dehydration turned his blood to sludge and he almost succumbed, times when their beatings left him weak, so weak that he couldn't move. Each time, he had fought instinctively, because as broken as he'd felt, something in him wanted Elliot, wanted to see him and just _hear his voice _so badly, so much that it hurt. Even when he couldn't take any more pain, even when he felt like he wanted to die, he had held on, because he hadn't truly wanted to die- he'd only wanted the pain to stop, and something in him had believed that if he survived and was with Elliot again (whether Elliot loved him or not), the pain would stop. He'd wanted to live, and that meant being afraid of death, no matter how much pain it would spare him.

But now that it wasn't physical pain and recoverable psychological trauma anymore, everything was different.

Wearily, he stood and set his hand on the window. The view was pretty, but not as good as at his own apartment. The view of the city lights below had always been one of his favorite things about his home. Manhattan apartments were expensive, but his was rent-controlled, and with his salary- forensic psychiatrists made a lot of money, after all, especially one with his experience- it hadn't been much of a problem. But as much as he missed his own home, he felt safer at Elliot's. A few days ago, he and Elliot had started talking about moving into just one apartment or the other instead of wasting money on an apartment neither of them were going to use.

It was raining, George noticed. It was late March now, a little more than a month since he'd been found, and two months since... _that day_. He shivered, remembering everything that had happened as a quick flash of thought, and then he closed his eyes, trying to shake it away by picturing what the city had looked like his first night here at Elliot's, with the idyllic snowfall and Elliot's soft voice in his ears as they talked George's issues over. Elliot's gentle arms lifting him when breathing became too hard, then holding him tightly as the two of them let their tears fall.

But he saw flashes of his attacker's faces instead, and he reeled slightly, placing his hand on the windowsill to steady himself. He breathed heavily, trying to prevent an anxiety attack or flashback. His heart started hammering and his limbs trembled. It seemed that fear had no intention of letting him go any time soon.

Shivering harder, he wrapped his arms around his chest and made himself breathe slow and deep. "Nothing to be afraid of." He told himself silently. "Not now, anyway. No use panicking. Just a little while longer, then it'll all be over." He ran his hand over the glass again, trying to calm down. The things he comforted himself with would sound alarming to anyone else, but he didn't care. It didn't matter, none of it did. So what if he was drawing comfort from his own imminent death? Others had reasons to stay alive; he didn't.

He stood straight and turned around to see Elliot standing in the doorway. He let out a startled shout and jumped back, then turned away again. His heart pounded again- it was amazing to him, how his body just never seemed to call it quits no matter how much adrenaline pumped through his body. Surely there had to be a limit somewhere, where the chemicals within him would just run out and he could see something unexpected without startling as though he'd been slapped, but no, it never came.

"Sorry, you startled me; I'm feeling edgy. Did you enjoy your shower?" George said, surprised when he succeeded in sounding calm.

"Yeah, it was fine," Elliot said, shrugging. "But why are you feeling edgy?" he continued softly. "You had been feeling so much better."

Elliot hadn't caught on. George suppressed a relieved sigh. "Just thinking," he muttered. Another lie.

Elliot walked up to him and pulled him close. He turned George in his arms so that they were face to face and cupped George's cheeks with his hands. "Just one more day, then the trial will be done," he murmured. "Then we can move on. I've been thinking about places we can go together, and I was wondering- would you like to go to California with me? Most of my siblings live there, and I think they'd like to meet you. They're, well, they're devout Catholics like I am, but they aren't homophobic like my father was. They're more with the times than that. Maybe we could go and stay with them, and do some other things while we're there- maybe we could go to Magic Mountain or something. I think it would be a lot of fun, and I really think it would be good for you to not only get out of New York, but also to just have some fun for a while."

George smiled weakly. "Sure, that sounds good. Hey, I'm going to take a shower now, okay?"

"Okay," Elliot said softly. He hugged George tightly and kissed his forehead.

It felt so intimate. George bit his lip, looking downwards. Elliot loved him, he really did. The fact only made him want to go through with it more- he didn't want to cause Elliot any more pain. The thought made him desperately want to tell Elliot the truth, and he almost did right then and there. But he didn't. He couldn't.

But the guilt was growing unbearable. No matter what he did, he was still hurting Elliot. If he kept lying to Elliot and eventually killed himself, it would make Elliot feel guilty for not realizing it earlier. If he stuck around, he was still there, which was enough of a reason in and of itself.

He swallowed hard, turned on his heels, and left the room, walking towards the bathroom. He couldn't do this- he couldn't take any more. He had to act soon, but he didn't know what to do, or how to do it.

"Hey, George?" Elliot murmured.

George jumped again, barely suppressing a gasp, and turned around to look at Elliot. Leaning against the wall, he asked, "Hm?"

"I-" Elliot looked at George for a long minute, then shook his head. "Never mind."

"Okay," George said, walking away as quickly as he could. He had to get away from Elliot before he told him everything. He shut the bathroom door and stripped down, then stepped under the shower. It was all ritual by now- turn the shower on so hot that it hurt, just short of scalding temperature, rub his skin raw, let his mind wander, step out once the water turned cold- assuming he didn't send himself into a flashback and need Elliot to help him again.

He leaned against the shower wall, staring at the curtain without taking any of it in. It was so easy to get lost inside himself.

He snapped back when he felt the scorching-hot water stinging his back, the pain simultaneously grounding him and making him feel closer to having a flashback. He always told himself and Elliot that he just made the water that hot and scrubbed so hard because he felt dirty, and that had been the truth at first, but now that was far from the only reason. He wasn't sure when it had changed; if he had been thinking it entirely subconsciously and not realizing it or denying it, or if this was truly the first time it had occurred to him.

Even outside of a flashback, he could still hear _them_ so clearly, taunting him, telling him all the terrible kinds of pain he deserved. The water wasn't nearly as bad as it could be, but until he set everything right, maybe it would be enough.

After a few minutes, he was gritting his teeth from the pain the raw skin on his left arm was causing. He showed himself as little mercy as his attackers had, scrubbing at the same area until it was bleeding, and even then he didn't stop until he started to feel reality slipping away. He bit his lip and moved on to his other arm, squeezing his eyes shut for a long moment. It _hurt, _but at least he was doing something. Their voices echoed in his ears. _"You deserve it..." _Their voices were usually only this persistent after a flashback- ordinarily he could push it away well enough that it barely seemed to be there at all- but he supposed the stress he was under had something to do with it. Stress made him feel anxious and have flashbacks, and since this was just another kind of intrusive recall, he supposed it would work the same.

He shifted to the side and his foot slipped, and he barely managed to keep from falling. He knocked over several containers of soap and shampoo, and leaned over hastily to pick them up. He smiled faintly as he looked at the bottle of Elliot's favorite soap. It was so masculine, so perfect for Elliot. He opened it and inhaled deeply, thinking of the times he'd smelled it on Elliot. _I'm going to miss him..._

Unbidden tears started falling down his face. He'd meant for this to be quick like a band-aid, but now it was drawn out and painful. He just wanted to get it over with before it became too much, but it already overwhelming.

He sank to his knees, shaking with silent tears. He loved Elliot, wanted him, wanted to wake up every day curled against him, to fall asleep every night lying on Elliot's chest, with his heartbeat in his ears. And it didn't matter that he would be happier without George there, because he hadn't realized it yet, had he? If he had, he wouldn't be doing this, and George wouldn't see the emotions in those blue eyes that he always saw. Elliot shouldn't love him, but he did anyway. If George didn't do anything to force him to move on, there was a chance Elliot would never realize what he was doing.

But it was too late now, there wasn't any going back. Even if he changed his mind, it wasn't as easy as just pretending nothing had happened.

George dug his nails into his shoulder, breathing harshly, trembling and shuddering with each breath. _Elliot..._

He was lost in himself again, gazing at the floor, not taking it in, not noticing the hot water sliding down his back. The two conflicting desires were wrestling in his head. He couldn't do this anymore, couldn't live with the pain and the knowledge of what his existence was causing for everyone else. But Elliot- just the thought of him, his blue eyes and his gentle hold- was making George want to find him and bury his head in his chest.

_God damn it,_ he thought, _god damn it. _If Elliot had just come home five minutes later, none of this would be happening. Five minutes.

He heard a knock on the door and snapped back to reality, startled to realize that the water had gotten cold, indicating that he had been here for at least an hour.

He didn't want to respond, didn't want to let Elliot know he had been crying, but he didn't have much of a choice. "Yeah?" he called.

"You okay?" Elliot asked. "You've been in there a while."

How many times had Elliot had to ask if George was okay today?

George sighed wearily, nodding, and called, "Yeah, just thinking. Be out in a sec."

He stopped the water, shivering as he realized just how cold he'd gotten, and stepped out of the shower. He dried off and then pulled his clothes on, feeling completely lost. Dazedly, he opened the door, tensing a little when he saw Elliot standing outside.

"You're shaking, what's-" Elliot started to ask, but he stopped when he felt George's arm. "Jesus, you're freezing! Come here," he said softly, gently tugging George towards the bedroom. George complied, following him, feet dragging as the exhaustion caught up with him. Crying had a way of draining the strength away from a person.

They entered the bedroom and Elliot guided George to the bed, laying him down and setting the blanket over him. George shivered harder, curling into himself. He closed his eyes, feeling like he could fall asleep right then and there if not for the cold.

"Why did you do that?" Elliot asked him, stroking George's hair.

George looked up at him for a second. "Didn't know," he mumbled, leaning into Elliot's touch.

"You didn't know the water had gotten ice-cold?" Elliot repeated.

George nodded once, rubbing at the goosebumps on his arms. "I was thinking."

"About?" Elliot prodded.

George shook his head. "Nothing."

Elliot started to protest, but then he stopped, apparently coming to a decision. "I'm going to get you some tea. If you still don't want to tell me when I come back, I won't force you to, but if you can, I want to know what upset you," Elliot said.

"How'd you know I was upset?" George asked wearily.

Elliot smiled sadly. "I can just tell. Something's been off with you all day, and it was worse when you left the room. And you don't usually space out like that, so it's pretty obvious something's been upsetting you."

George nodded, but didn't speak. He leaned into the pillow and tried to relax.

He had almost fallen asleep when Elliot came back with a mug of hot water with a teabag steeping in it. Elliot shook his shoulder gently, and George flinched, but not nearly as violently as he had earlier. Sitting up, George grabbed the mug and dragged the teabag through the water, watching as the tea gradually turned the water darker.

He looked up at Elliot, who he could tell was waiting for him to say something. George shook his head. "I don't want to talk about this," he admitted. "I'm just overwhelmed, and I don't feel up to talking about it. I just need to think."

"Okay," Elliot said simply. He stood and started walking around the bed to get in on his side. He stopped for a minute and looked at the floor, then leaned down and picked something up.

A piece of paper.

The one George had written his suicide note on.

George felt his pocket, confirming what he already knew; somehow, the note had fallen out of his pocket when he'd walked to the shower. "Elliot! Wait, don't-" he began desperately, but Elliot was already unfolding and reading it.

George fell back against the pillows, feeling panic begin to set in.


End file.
